I walked into one of the unnamed galleries near Art6 and all kinds of fashionably-dressed models were perched around the room or making their way through the crowd.
I heard that the clothing came from Rumors Boutique over on Harrison Street, but saw nothing to indicate that officially. But of course, there would be nothing official about a guerrilla event.
Seeing the art on the walls was a bit problematic because there were so many fashionable young men having earnest conversations (and taking photographs of each other) against the walls that it was impossible to see most of the art. On the other hand, the human scenery was quite decorative.
"Throwback: Art of the 60s and 70s" at Art6 drew a big crowd with its visual references to the pop artists of those decades. A guitarist sat in a corner of the gallery strumming and singing songs like "Imagine" to create the proper vibe. Low-key groovy.
Over at Gallery 5 I ran into a bazillion people I knew before I even got to see the shows. "Fleeting Terrain" with its large scale works of unrecognizable landscapes required two trips around the room to absorb it all.
In the GallowLily's space, Henry Winfiele's show of colorful wall-hung sculptures was the best kind of eye candy: bright, distinctive and creative. The artist was surrounded by a group of fans the entire time I was there. Of course we would have art groupies in RVA.
Gallery 5 was also having music (Capstan Shafts and the Diamond Center), but then who wasn't tonight? Sound of Music, Balliceaux and Sprout all had excellent bills planned. I opted for hushed folk and dreamy pop at Sprout.
With all the First Friday madness going on, it was still relatively civilized at Sprout when I arrived, allowing me to have a nice dinner before the rest of the music-seekers began to wander in.
Owner Jamie took the stool beside me, so I had built-in bad jokes throughout my meal ("absinthe-minded professor"...groan) of sliced steak salad (feta, mixed greens, roasted root veggies and mustard vinaigrette), Searidge Syrah and red velvet cake (the darkest and most chocolatey I've ever had). It was a simple and satisfying meal with great company.
Savannah's Lady Lazarus played to a room not nearly as full as it should have been considering her minimalist style comprised of an ethereal voice and accompanying piano. But those of us in the room enjoyed what we heard immensely.
Her songs were poems pulled from a deep emotional place; "Midnight Music for the Broken-Hearted Condition" said it all. She apologized for the bad grammar of "I Couldn't Find Me in Anything" and delivered another heartfelt ode to love and change.
Mid-set two guys walked into the room and had a top-volume conversation that almost drowned out her music completely. It was almost comical how loudly they were talking in a hushed room full of people clearly listening to music. Some would say oblivious, others would use stronger language.
The Low Branches had a slightly bigger crowd as people began to trickle in from earlier shows and catch their set of haunting folk music with guitar(s) and drums. People instinctively quiet down when they play so as not to miss a hushed note.
When one of the oblivious ones re-entered the room during their set, everyone held their breath but he didn't speak...until he came out of the ladies' room to find a girl waiting to use it.
"Oh, sorry," he shouted at her over Christina's song before noticing that he'd left the seat up. "The least I can do is put that down for you." Considering he'd bypassed the open men's room for the ladies' loo, yea, it didn't seem like too much to ask.
It would have been the perfect time for a visit from the guerrilla music police, though. Shouting during a quiet show and leaving the seat up are offenses punishable by immediate expulsion.
In a perfect world, that is.
No comments:
Post a Comment