You're very welcome.
Apparently, it’s a faux pas to camp out at the food/drink table and stuff your face during an opening reception.
Who are you kidding? Isn’t that the only reason you’re “interested in art” to begin with?
But seriously, act like you haven’t eaten in a week. Because you probably haven’t if you're friends with artists.
If you’re going to indulge (and you should) with the complimentary beer and wine, don’t go overboard and slam a gaggle of alcohol and then stumble around like a drunk a-hole, sloshing booze out of a cheap clear plastic cup and onto the floor, your shoes and probably somebody’s dress.
These things are all about appearing “cultured.” So never, ever, ever default to the truth and say something like “Actually, I’m unfamiliar with _____” [insert a Bauhaus nobody or pre-World War II Japanese performance artist or sound-art charlatan from the Deep South]. Often, opening receptions are an exercise in lying in order to seem “art smart” — so just nod your head and pretend that, yes, you’ve heard of the overrated avant-garde artist in question and, yes, God yes, you also think he’s the greatest thing ever.
Wait until you’re miles away from the gallery before expressing your opinion, which, we’re sure, is totally accurate and informed and worthy of a review in Art In America. Yeah, we’re positive that the magazine probably tried to call you back about those stellar clips you submitted of your Facebook rants, but you recently had to change your cell-phone number so you have no way of knowing if they did call. What a bummer that you were so close to being a reputable art critic. Yeah, we would also be emo if we were you. It’s so hard to be you.
This is the not the place to namedrop or drop off flyers and business cards or corner the artist so that he can put in a good word to the curator in order to score a studio visit at your place, a.k.a. a plywood table under the stairs with half-realized watercolor paintings covered in cat hair.