Love is dead. Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy announced their conscious uncoupling today.
Even an optimist like me has to have her faith in happily ever after shaken a bit by that. Who's next, Mom and Dad?
Setting aside personal concerns for the greater good, I walked over to 1708 Gallery for tonight's talk and dinner on BridgePark. Although it hadn't been all that long since I'd attended a community conversation on BridgePark, tonight's was less a meeting and more of a social.
In other words, there was a cash bar.
More importantly to me, there was also a week-long exhibit devoted to a model, sketches, a film and enlarged photographs of the proposed BridgePark connecting the green spaces of the state capital to the river and Manchester.
The challenge was being able to see these ideas brought to the gallery's walls and floor space given the crush of warm bodies filling 1708. It wasn't the same crowd that had attended the last meeting in Manchester. No, this was a far artsier crowd and with drinks in hand, the feeling was more of one big cocktail party.
Not that there's anything wrong with an art meet and greet.
Gallerists and arty types abounded, along with young families, river devotees and BridgePark's growing following.
One large photo of the James at sunset made comparisons:
The Seine
The Arno
The James
Another showed two eagles facing off in mid-air. It read:
Food, Music. Fun.
And eagle battles.
After the crowd was nicely lubricated, organizer Ted got the crowd's attention - no easy task amid all the kvetching - and did a shorter presentation than the one I'd seen last.
He admitted to our collective love affair with the old train bridge piers in the river (we can't deny it). He spoke of making better use of an under-utilized bridge. To really grab the crowd, he showed a photo of the July 4th fireworks taken from the bridge.
When all of a sudden technology failed him and the images wouldn't move forward, a guy near me shouted out, "Kill the DJ!" I thought it was funny. Device again working, we finished the presentation with no further good-natured heckling.
Then and only then were people allowed to go through the food line, enjoying a repast curated by the Underground Kitchen, cooked by Chef Carly Herring with food supplied from Belmont Butchery, Renew Richmond, Shalom Farms and VSU with a charming row of vases holding mostly pink zinnias courtesy of Tricycle Gardens lining the center of the table.
Conveniently, I'd stationed myself near the food table for the presentation, so it wasn't far to be the second person in line (behind the tiny woman with the sleeping child in her arms). Beef vegetable soup, beautifully balanced kale salad with Feta and craisins in a honey dressing, a simply dressed tomato and onion salad that tasted like the tomatoes had been in the ground this morning and the heel a loaf of Sub Rosa's brown bread filled up my plate.
We'd been told that the reason for the large communal table was so that we might sit next to a stranger (something I do on a fairly frequent basis, btw) and build community by discussing our impressions and hopes for BridgePark with others also interested in the project.
I sat down with empty chairs on either side of me.
Her backside had barely hit the chair when the woman next to me introduced herself and I recognized her as a rock climber who'd expressed concerns about losing the southside climbing wall in the plans for the park. She confirmed her love of climbing, informing me that we were one of the rare cities who had natural climbing places downtown.
We'd already heard from Ted that we were one of two state capitals with eagle habitats downtown. And don't get us started on our Class IV rapids downtown or we might go on for days.
Another woman sat down next to her, explaining that she was a lawyer who'd known Ted before he stopped lawyering to run the BridgePark non-profit. Next came a familiar face - a WRIR DJ who also plays around town as a DJ - across from me, but I couldn't very well send him on his way just because I knew him, could I? I spotted the Man About Town standing in the food line holding lemonade for a young damsel.
Carly's soup with Belmont Butchery's beef in the starring role was ridiculously appealing given that it was still 90+ degrees outside. Sub Rosa's bread soaked up every bit of broth. I chatted with my new friends about BridgePark's possibilities.
To accompany our meal, Rodney the Soul Singer crooned at the front of the room as the film showing the majesty of the James played behind us. Everywhere around me, people were busy eating and talking about the concept of a bridge park in Richmond.
They were putting on a good show, but I'm willing to bet that under those lively facades, their hearts were aching with the depressing news of Kermit and Piggy's breakup. What hope is there for the rest of us?
As far as moi is concerned, sometimes you just have to eat a chocolate chip/macadamia/coconut cookie and call it a day.
Showing posts with label 10 x 10. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 10 x 10. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Hello, It's Me
Praise be for summer-long art series.
I'd been a huge fan of the Anderson Gallery's happy hour series, but with it now closed, needed some long-term summer stimulation (ahem). Just because the students are gone doesn't mean the rest of us don't need our fix. Enter 1708 Gallery's "10 x 10" series where a different artist or community organization takes over the gallery for one week.
Tonight was the opening of "Performing Statistics," more activist statement than anything, making a powerful case for stopping the school to prison pipeline. The project uses Art 180's artists, incarcerated people, legal experts and policy reformers to address the many issues of juvenile justice reform.
The gallery had an artistic feel but its art was facts and figures about how to keep kids in schools not prisons. Facts such as, there are more U.S. citizens with criminal records (70 million) than the entirety of France's population. I don't know how to get my head around that.
Patterned pieces on the floor told stories of children's lives changed by suspensions and incarceration, both a factor of racial profiling and mandatory sentencing. It was sobering to take in.
It was most definitely a community call to action to address the human and financial cost, making for a unique intersection of arts and activism. Because of that, I wasn't in the least surprised to run into the socially conscious artist/musician, the dedicated school teacher with one day left in the school year and one of the firebrands of Art 180.
After I left, brain stimulated and interest piqued, I moved on to Rancho T to meet friends for dinner. Waiting for them to arrive, I heard from the staff that today's 96 degree temperature heat had necessitated putting black tarps over the skylights because the restaurant was baking like a cake in an EZ-Bake oven from their focused warmth.
It was 80 degrees when I arrived and I thought it felt divine, but then, I'd just come from my 94 degree apartment. A glass of Vina Sol Torres was just chilled and apple-y enough to further cool me down while ogling the specials board and pining for tongue, a common affliction of mine.
Once my friends arrived, we had the bar mostly to ourselves and wasted no time in getting them wine and ordering. With strong recommendations from staff, we began with a lemony chilled shrimp and mussel salad, pozole with clams, mussels and corn (and a broth so delectable that two fried tortillas was never going to be enough to sop up its goodness so I used a spoon) and, finally, beef tongue tacos with chile beer salsa.
The kitchen had knocked all three dishes out of the park, and that didn't even include my friend's entree of cobia brought in this morning to be broken down and served tonight.
As part of my ongoing mezcal cocktail research I had a Smokey and the Bandit, a gin and mezcal sour (lemon and lime juice), foamy with egg and enhanced with habanero shrub and bitters, that was a hit with one of my friends as well. Granted, she's never met a gin cocktail she didn't like, but I was behind her 100% on such a perfectly balanced libation.
As we were winding down, the only other occupant at the bar looked over and identified my friend. "I know you from the Triangle," he said smiling and showing deep dimples. When my friend didn't recognize or remember him at once, Dimples took off his hat as if that would help with recognition, showing a great head of hair. "When you knew me, I had a ponytail," he said, pushing fingers through his thick hair.
It quickly became apparent they had barely a degree of separation between them and Dimples was soon reeling off the name of restaurants he's had in this town over the years, including one barely a block away. I swear, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a restaurateur in this town.
"They had to come up with new liquor laws because of me," he said with not a little pride. As I pointed out, there had to be some good stories there. If you haven't got anything nice to say about the restaurant business in this town, please come sit beside me.
He joked about his past excesses - "At least a dozen 14 year olds must have given their lives so I could still be here," he quipped. "I should've been dead 20 years ago."
When he said good night, my friend asked if he was hurrying home to someone. "Nope, I got 2 dogs and 23 employees and that's more than enough," he said before shaking all our hands goodbye. Men who break liquor laws apparently don't need no stinkin' relationships.
For the rest of us, it's a lot more complicated than that.
I'd been a huge fan of the Anderson Gallery's happy hour series, but with it now closed, needed some long-term summer stimulation (ahem). Just because the students are gone doesn't mean the rest of us don't need our fix. Enter 1708 Gallery's "10 x 10" series where a different artist or community organization takes over the gallery for one week.
Tonight was the opening of "Performing Statistics," more activist statement than anything, making a powerful case for stopping the school to prison pipeline. The project uses Art 180's artists, incarcerated people, legal experts and policy reformers to address the many issues of juvenile justice reform.
The gallery had an artistic feel but its art was facts and figures about how to keep kids in schools not prisons. Facts such as, there are more U.S. citizens with criminal records (70 million) than the entirety of France's population. I don't know how to get my head around that.
Patterned pieces on the floor told stories of children's lives changed by suspensions and incarceration, both a factor of racial profiling and mandatory sentencing. It was sobering to take in.
It was most definitely a community call to action to address the human and financial cost, making for a unique intersection of arts and activism. Because of that, I wasn't in the least surprised to run into the socially conscious artist/musician, the dedicated school teacher with one day left in the school year and one of the firebrands of Art 180.
After I left, brain stimulated and interest piqued, I moved on to Rancho T to meet friends for dinner. Waiting for them to arrive, I heard from the staff that today's 96 degree temperature heat had necessitated putting black tarps over the skylights because the restaurant was baking like a cake in an EZ-Bake oven from their focused warmth.
It was 80 degrees when I arrived and I thought it felt divine, but then, I'd just come from my 94 degree apartment. A glass of Vina Sol Torres was just chilled and apple-y enough to further cool me down while ogling the specials board and pining for tongue, a common affliction of mine.
Once my friends arrived, we had the bar mostly to ourselves and wasted no time in getting them wine and ordering. With strong recommendations from staff, we began with a lemony chilled shrimp and mussel salad, pozole with clams, mussels and corn (and a broth so delectable that two fried tortillas was never going to be enough to sop up its goodness so I used a spoon) and, finally, beef tongue tacos with chile beer salsa.
The kitchen had knocked all three dishes out of the park, and that didn't even include my friend's entree of cobia brought in this morning to be broken down and served tonight.
As part of my ongoing mezcal cocktail research I had a Smokey and the Bandit, a gin and mezcal sour (lemon and lime juice), foamy with egg and enhanced with habanero shrub and bitters, that was a hit with one of my friends as well. Granted, she's never met a gin cocktail she didn't like, but I was behind her 100% on such a perfectly balanced libation.
As we were winding down, the only other occupant at the bar looked over and identified my friend. "I know you from the Triangle," he said smiling and showing deep dimples. When my friend didn't recognize or remember him at once, Dimples took off his hat as if that would help with recognition, showing a great head of hair. "When you knew me, I had a ponytail," he said, pushing fingers through his thick hair.
It quickly became apparent they had barely a degree of separation between them and Dimples was soon reeling off the name of restaurants he's had in this town over the years, including one barely a block away. I swear, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a restaurateur in this town.
"They had to come up with new liquor laws because of me," he said with not a little pride. As I pointed out, there had to be some good stories there. If you haven't got anything nice to say about the restaurant business in this town, please come sit beside me.
He joked about his past excesses - "At least a dozen 14 year olds must have given their lives so I could still be here," he quipped. "I should've been dead 20 years ago."
When he said good night, my friend asked if he was hurrying home to someone. "Nope, I got 2 dogs and 23 employees and that's more than enough," he said before shaking all our hands goodbye. Men who break liquor laws apparently don't need no stinkin' relationships.
For the rest of us, it's a lot more complicated than that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
