An Undying Love Affiar

Issues of portraying the soul ended with nothing more than wet soles.

Mine.

We joined the masses of humanity at the VMFA tonight, although not for the Chihuly opening.

Instead, we came for "Poetry and Painting: An Undying Love Story," a collaboration between the VMFA and the Library of Virginia.

The concept was simple: choose nine works from the museum's collections and have nine award-winning poets write about them.

Lecturer Dr. Aneta Georgievska-Shine gave a sparkling talk on the topic of ekphrasis, the intersection of the visual and the verbal and the competition, or paragone, of painting and poetry.

That would be the whole idea behind the collaboration.

Her enthusiasm on the subject was delightful, her depth of knowledge impressive and her accent perfectly charming on the topic of which is more effective at description, the word or the image?

Using examples of works from the VMFA and beyond, she detailed layers of meaning to be found in paintings.

It was an art history lover's wet dream.

Discussing Leonardo's "Ginevra de'Benci," she explained how it was Leonardo's only work with painting on the front and back.

Even better, she told how it had been commissioned not by Ginevra's fiance, but by her "platonic friend" just before her wedding.

Clearly the "platonic friend" wanted something to remember the girl who got away.

The words painted on the back of it (a laurel branch, a palm branch, juniper and the words "Beauty adorns virtue") were, she said, put there because the image alone couldn't evoke how the "friend" saw her.

So the writers were correct; words better captured the soul than did the image.

She spoke of how works of art were designed to spark conversation.

"What are words if not a dance from pronoun to imperative?"

Shine's passion for her subject was evident in her language (referring to herself as a "beholder" when it came to art) and her directives ("Go to the Prado and give yourself a treat") and her guileless assumption that everyone craves art as she does ("Who is not provoked by difficult pictures?").

Don't look at me. I'm easily provoked by the difficult.

Going through a variety of visuals, she concluded that the goal was to talk back to art, for instance, "When you no longer see art as a visual intrusion but more of an invitation to respond."

In other words, what better way to experience art than to have something to say to it.

As far as I'm concerned, that means words win.

As if such a scintillating lecture weren't enough, we were each given a copy of the book containing the nine works of art chosen by the VMFA's curators and the nine poems written about them.

So far, "Femme Fatale," written about Georges de Feure's "Window" is my favorite.

In a garden of calla lilies.opening,
   I beguile 
you. With lead strips

I encircle your heart
  Darkness soars
through an alluring sky.

Obscure art facts and a book of poetry based on art? How much better can a Friday night get?

Well, there was a housewarming party for a power couple and a chance to see their terrific transition from near West End back into the city.

I got to bore a friend and her cute husband with my holiday stories and choose from a ridiculous array of baked goods supplied by talented guests.

Just as I got talking restaurants with another friend, it was time to pack up and go hear music.

Chicha Libre, a Brooklyn band that plays a trippy, psychedelic kind of Latin groove took over the back room, much to a packed crowd's delight.

I scored some Milagro Reposado at the front bar and chatted with a couple of friends before putting down stakes in the back room for the action.

Almost immediately, I saw two of my favorite WRIR DJs, so I knew I could expect dance rhythms.

The six-piece had guitar, cuatro ( a small 4-string guitar), upright bass, percussion (I love a man who uses his hands on drum skins), drums and keyboard/Electrovox (vintage synthesizer in an accordion body), making for a lot of sound.

Some songs had words and some didn't, yet always there was a structure to the song, a clear sense of purpose.

But from the first notes, it was all about the surf guitar and the driving Latin beats.

Translation: my shoes came off immediately so I could shake my tail feathers more comfortably.

Their sound was all over the place - sometimes rocking like Santana and other times jamming like Phish.

But the beat was so insistent that everything else around it was gravy; you could listen only to nothing but the drummer and percussionist and be wildly satisfied.

Needless to say, the few couples dancing up front soon became a wall-to-wall dance floor as people found the beat irresistible.

At one point, the cuatro player/vocalist was waving a red scarf over his head during a particularly driving drum part, as if to incite the dancers like a matador teasing a bull.

It was beyond awesome.

When the last song played, the audience held its breath until the band said they'd be back for a second set.

It was during the break that the percussionist walked by me and looked down.

"What happened to your shoes?" he asked, smiling and pointing.

I explained that I'd removed them so I could dance more easily and that that was thanks to him and his drumming.

"That's great! But don't let anyone step on your toes," he sad solicitously.

It was during the second set that I finally had to give up my prime position to go to the bathroom, where a long line  of seven people awaited me.

The guy in line behind me enthused about what a great band they were and I agreed.

When the bathroom door opened, the three girls in front of me all went in together.

I turned to the guy behind me for an explanation.

"They're going in there to talk about guys for an hour and a half," he said as if he knew. "And then do cocaine. You know, it's not just for the '80s anymore."

No, I hadn't known.

Lickety split, the girls emerged and I was in and out in seconds

When I returned to my coveted spot, I found the floor wet with god knows what.

Dilemma.

What the hell, I discarded the shoes again and went back to dancing in my spot, albeit now with wet soles.

Earlier, it had been words that won out over image.

This time, music won over words.

My soul got it coming and going tonight.