A Dangerous Face

Be careful if you tell me you hate art.

So when I describe a new contemporary art show I just saw at 1708 Gallery that included old refrigerators, do not tell me, "And that's why I hate art."

Because if you do, I will challenge you to go with me to see another show which I am certain will force you to eat your words.

And seeing this art will begin with a scenic drive down Route 5, where the palette is decidedly shades of silver, deep green and rust.

Where fields are covered in wild turkeys. Where construction of the Capital Bike Trail is an ongoing work in progress.

And when we arrive at the Muscarelle Museum on the campus of William and Mary, we will go upstairs to see "Michelangelo: Sacred and Profane," containing masterpiece drawings from the Casa Buonarroti.

There will be things like "Study of a Horse," showing the concavities of flesh and bone impossible to see when paint is not used to indicate light on a sleek body.

There will be a tiny business card-sized drawing called, "Man with Crested Helmet," showing a man's profile bisected by horizontal lines that suggest a classical cornice, a melding of Michelangelo's love of the figure and architecture.

I will overhear a docent say that on the day the show opened, February 9, 1800 people came through the museum that day.

That Michelangelo's family lived for two centuries off the profits from his art.

I will be enchanted by "Plan for Pichola Liberia," a drawing of a triangular shaped "little library" requested by the Pope to house the rare book collection of the Medicis.

Three nesting triangular tables mimic the lines of the little room, and light is shown as coming from the three corners of the ceiling facing the sky.

"Study for Porta Pia" is such a magnificently realized drawing of a portal to Rome, a grand entrance way, that it feels almost sculptural, like it's coming off the paper and into the gallery.

And you, my friend, will have to acknowledge when, at the back of the galleries, you see "Madonna and Child" that you do not actually hate art.

The muscular, almost sculptural body of the child is in stark contrast to the unfinished form of the Madonna, her lush Italian lips full as she gazes off almost forebodingly, perhaps anticipating that her baby's life will not end well.

And just to put the cherry on top, you should then look at the two "Cleopatra" images, one exotic with a snake wound through the queen's elaborate hairdo and the other anguished looking.

A line of Michelangelo's poetry (because, of course, in addition to sculpture, painting and drawings, he wrote poetry), he sums up the allure of the female face.

It is not without danger, your divine face.

Sigh.

It may not have been enough to put up with Michelangelo himself, though, whom the docent described as "cranky person who didn't take care of himself."

Sounds like a typical middle aged man to me.

And when we walk out of the galleries, you, my friend, will admit that you did not hate this art.

Meanwhile when I go to use the bathroom downstairs, I find a line of women waiting their turn in a three-stall bathroom and wonder how long the lines were when the roughly 900 women came on opening day.

Once in, the obvious update is that the stalls now house modern plastic toilet paper dispensers, meaning the old metal ones with small lidded ashtrays attached (in place as recently as three years ago) are now relegated to the Muscarelle's history.

Also missing are the small signs above them that used to read, "Please refrain from smoking."

Ah, the times they are a-changing.

After proving my art point to my friend, we headed over to the dreaded historical area for a late lunch.

His choice was The Trellis, a surprisingly bright and dated series of rooms still bustling with a lunching crowd even at 3:00.

A table of four women, all with heads bent as they interacted with their phones and not the friends they'd come to lunch with.

Another table of women ordering bright pink cocktails to start their meal.

I went the simple route with today's soup and half sandwich special.

The soup was white bean and chicken with kale, garlic, carrots, celery and onion, thick and satisfying.

Today's sandwich was a complete throwback to my youth: ham salad.

When our server described it as ciabatta with ham salad made of ham, roasted peppers, onions, celery, mayo and a little mustard, I flashed back to childhood and my mother's bridge parties.

The only time I ever saw (or tasted) ham salad was when my Mom hosted her bridge club and she made dozens of little chicken and ham salad sandwiches.

When I expressed my memory of this to the twenty-something server, she jumped on it.

"I know, right? I remember my grandmother making ham salad when I was little, so it's like a total throwback for me, too!"

And while I think crispy ciabatta is the wrong choice for a sandwich like this (too much crunch for the filling), the ham salad was a delicious walk down Memory Lane.

Over lunch we discussed the concurrent show at the Muscarelle, a lesser Baroque painter and disciple of Michelangelo, Mattia Preti.

But truthfully, no painter could hold up after seeing a show of the master's drawings, so both my friend and I had given it, at best, a cursory look.

Lunch concluded with The Trellis' signature "death by chocolate" dessert, certainly not the most unique chocolate dessert I've ever had, but with enough forms of chocolate to satisfy my sweet tooth and put a period at the end of our day trip.

Let's just say it was as satisfying as hearing my art-hating friend admit how much he'd liked today's art.

Challenge met and left among the dead leaves on silvery Route 5.