Over the Rainbow

Sometimes size does matter.

Like when you're talking about collecting art.

New Yorkers Herb and Dorothy Vogel collected 4700 pieces of art, meaning their art collection's size exceeds mine by about 4670.

Their collection was so large they could give fifty pieces to museums in all fifty states and tonight I went to see the fifty Virginia got.

"The Dorothy and Herbert Vogel Collection: Fifty Works for Fifty States" went on view last weekend and I was eager to see what had landed at the VMFA.

A lot of amazing art, that's what.

Hands down, my favorite was Charles Clough's "Ramus Major" from 1983, a work that suggested  the past.

Like a band of twenty-somethings whose music reflects the influences of every band that came before them, this enamel on rag paper piece was an exquisite regurgitation of the past.

The complementary shades of blues and oranges, the sense of movement, the curving figures, were both fresh and familiar at the same time.

For me, it was the most swoon-worthy piece.

But if the VMFA wanted me to take something smaller off their hands, I'd be happy to hang Edda Renouf's 1993 "Dawn-17 (water)" in my apartment, if only to use its undulating lines on sea blue-green to lose myself in.

While strolling the gallery, I ran into a friend doing the same and her first question was if I'd seen the Goya prints (I had) and if I'd gone to the tiki bar (I had) and maybe a little quick commentary about a certain woman-about-town we both despise (shared disdain, always a pleasure).

Because she works at the museum, she'd been fortunate enough to meet artist Martin Johnson, who had two works in the Vogel show.

Some girls have all the luck.

Before long, she looked at me suddenly and said, "I thought you'd be at Ghostprint," which was exactly where I was headed next.

It was opening night at Ghostprint Gallery for Negativland's "Our Favorite Things," a show of considerable breadth of paintings and collages by the collective headed up by Mark Hosler.

As a founding member of Negativland, Mark was also performing tonight, so no wonder my friend presumed I'd be there.

The show was a retrospective of work chronicling the collaborative work of this group since the '80s.

"Untitled Tape Collage (Twenty Years of Negativland)" was a mixed media piece that you could look at for hours on end and still continue to see new things in it.

Bits and pieces of two decades intermingled on the vertical piece.

Some of the collages were paper and others were more like combines, using found objects, frames and whatever else the artists wanted.

Books, Jewelry. Car parts.

"Steak on a Whim" contained a row of plastic "steaks" with googly eyes, which visitors were encouraged to push, making them squeak.

It's a treat to be told by the gallerist,"Touch the art. The artist wants you to."

There was nothing subtle about "Madonna and Child"with its plastic fried eggs and loads of baby bottle nipples.

"Strange Lives of One Man" contained a framed picture of a couple with the glass broken, causing a man I'd met at a previous opening to observe to me, "I have a picture just like that of my Mom and Dad."

His, however, was at home in a box he said and not consigned to a better life in the service of art.

I met the artist, Mark, and, besides being handsome, was charmed by his pleasure in re-purposing objects for art.

"By Truck" had a blue ribbon hanging on it saying "1st Prize Madison County Fair" and he admitted that the ribbon was not originally part of the piece.

Rather, he'd actually submitted it to the fair, won the ribbon and added it to the work, "because it needed some color."

Even better, the $6 check he'd won for first prize was now taped to the back of the frame.

As far as I could see, that was recycling in the name of artistic evolution. Brilliant.

But Negativland also makes collages of music, radio and live performances and soon the lights were dimmed and Mark took over the controls on a large table (for what man wants a small table?) in the corner.

It was audio collage time.

Turning knobs and orchestrating sound, he proceeded to entertain the rapt crowd with samples, sound bites and enough unexpected sounds that one friend stepped outside to listen through the door after she jumped through her skin at a sudden boom.

It was interesting watching the audience; several times Mark almost locked into a groove and people began bobbing their heads, only to be knocked out of their trance state when the music took a surprising left turn.

I have to say, it was very cool listening to this guy work his audio magic while surrounded by all these collages of cultural artifacts.

When he finished, it was time to eat.

But why only eat when you can also admire two men with large instruments?

Because if you're going to play a classical instrument, you may as well play the big one.

Balliceaux was hosting "I Love Your Big Bassoon," an evening of, get this, bassoon music and bassoon trivia.

I mean, how great is that?

True, I would be useless on a bassoon trivia team, but I sensed that the entertainment value would be high.

Plus there would be bassoon music? Count me in.

I was pleased to see that Balliceaux had jumped on the small plate wagon, offering a half dozen or so $5 and $6 plates to encourage eating with their world-famous drink menu.

In short order, I chose grilled smoked Surry sausage with stewed tomatoes and local collards in a cornmeal crepe.

The rustic combo of local ingredients was a solid winner.

Deep-fried stuck pork belly skewer came with a beautiful ginger peach chutney that benefited the belly which had almost no fat.

Give me some fat with my pork belly, people, or it may as well be pork tenderloin.

Endive with a salsa of pearl couscous, beluga lentils, heirloom tomatoes and olives leaned too heavily on the olives, in my opinion, overwhelming the other ingredients to the point of oblivion.

That said, the texture was lovely, the lentils perfectly cooked.

The show began with Martin (or was it Tom?) telling us that by the end of the evening, he hoped we'd agree what a soulful instrument the bassoon was.

There were small white boards on some of the tables and four teams were quickly formed to compete on bassoon trivia.

Alternating trivia questions with performances, the evening marched along most enjoyably.

We were shown a demonstration of the parts of the bassoon (who knew there were so many?), so it was also educational.

Tom (or was it Martin?) did a piece he described as "a finger twister and a tongue twister."

I guess you need fast both if you have a big instrument.

The first question asked was what was the other kind of bassoon besides the German bassoon?

French. Duh.

The two-person team next to me got it right.

There was a piece of music described as ,"Latin music, like Latin women, is very free and unrestricted," which led to the next question about the Spanish word for Latin men thinking they were all that.

Answer: Machismo. My seatmate team scored again.

There was an hysterical and obscure question about a 1983 film called "Never Cry Wolf" which had to do with a guy going to the tundra to live with wolves.

Naturally, he takes his bassoon.

Question: What part of the bassoon did he use to fight off wolves?

With this arcane question came a demonstration by Martin (or was it Tom?), with him taking each part and using it in a beating or thrusting motion to help us figure out the best attack method by part.

And the answer was...Boot joint!

Of course.

One thing I did learn about bassoon playing tonight: I liked the duets better than the solos because the beauty of the two playing different parts was pure ear candy.

A sax-playing friend came back and joined me at the table, leading to a discussion of how kids choose what instrument they want to play.

He'd wanted the violin and his rock and rolling Dad had already put up with a child screeching on the violin and promptly steered him to the sax.

Obviously there are kids who demand the bassoon; Tom (or was it Martin) recalled teenage years getting his angst out by playing bassoon.

Friend told me that bassoons were extremely expensive, even showing me on his phone some used ones for sale for $7500.

And a hand-made one for $34,000!

What parent buys his kid that kind of pricey instrument anyway?

One question was not a question but a challenge.

The bassoon harness that distributes the weight of the instrument across the back and shoulders so the neck doesn't take all the brunt needed a more clever name.

Each team tried but only one succeeded with the very clever (and quick) suggestion of Brasoon.

After a question about the father of western music (Bach) and another right answer, I turned to the woman next to me to compliment her knowledge base.

"I play bassoon," she admitted.

Ringer.

But, wait, here was my source.

How much did your bassoon cost, I asked a perfect stranger.

"$8,000," she said. "And that's on the low end."

Now I see.

It's not just size of the instrument that matters, it's size of the wallet, too.

I refuse to believe either.