The lights would get so bright on the pulse that for a moment it would look like the dance floor had been transported out of doors, to some English garden party when the late spring flora  had exploded with color. Color – that moment of transformation from blue and black to psychedelia, on the pulse of a two-second strobe, was not something he imagined to take from this less than fabulous neighborhood club. The bodies moving within that light, the multi-hued swirling of pegged pants and skirts, cravats and headbands, against a sunbox of light, approximated a Lichtenstein in a centrifuge. Inside of this ordinary brick building with unfinished walls was a living museum of modern art, a prescient multi-media performance piece in a place where few had ever visited an art museum.

We are all artists in our ecstasy, he thought, and then girded himself for the thrill of the next pulse of light.

-Danny Grosso