The Weakest Thread

If I lose a button off my dress during the course of the evening, is it cause for pride or embarrassment?

My first stop was Sabai, where I ran into friends - a musical married couple - eating dinner and wound up having a lengthy discussion of documentaries once we discovered we're all documentary dorks. Happily for me, they have a secret club where they show docs to other dorks so now I can join my people on a regular basis for non-fiction film.

Score.

Stop #2 was Glave Kocen Gallery for the opening of Alex Nyerges' first solo photography show, "Chasing the Light," which was abuzz with rich-looking people (a good thing since sales of the photographs were benefiting VMFA) when I arrived in my thrift store dress and shoes.

Servers were passing hors d'oeuvres from Heritage across the street, including spoonfuls of beets and burrata that went down like silk.

The first person I recognized was a blue-clad gallerist, followed by a painter who's recently become a first-time father. When I asked about the little one, he said they were in the back, away from the fray, but he also had made a point to bring the baby to start exposing her to art. I like that kind of thinking.

Further on, I saw a favorite printmaker who excitedly told me about the new Studio 23 printmaking collective space in Scott's Addition where she has a studio of her own. When the gallerist joined us, she started to introduce us, only to hear that we already knew each other.

"Of course, Karen knows everyone," she joked. Not true, but good for a laugh.

I already knew plenty about the show because I'd written a piece for Style Weekly about it after a long and enjoyable conversation with the photographer a few weeks ago. We'd hit it off because he's a runner and although my pace as a walker is slower, we bonded over the advantages of seeing the world from your feet rather than a car.

Unlike me, he carries a camera with him when he runs, meaning he's able to capture early morning moments that few are around to see. Add in that his job as director of the VMFA takes him all over the world and it's a recipe for compelling photographs.

Walking around the room to view the prints and read the artist's statements took me to Key West, China, Baltimore, San Francisco and France, among others, with the only common thread being each black and white photograph's heightened sense of contrast. Darks were the blackest black while lights were luminescent, almost heavenly in places.

The man has such a great eye, all the more so for shooting in color and then printing in black and white. The show had exactly one full color image - taken just before a close friend died - and one with the tiniest hint of color taken through a shower window.

It was fascinating to me to overhear people reacting to photographs of the James River, mainly because they were completely unfamiliar with the views of the bridges and train trestles every walker and runner in this city knows so well. "That's in Richmond?" was a frequent refrain. Sure is.

Several photographs already had the telltale red dots next to them denoting "sold" status and I saw a couple trying to narrow their choice to just one. With no such ability to buy, I just admired.

After much deliberation, I think my favorite was a view from San Francisco taken from the middle of a hilly street on which "STOP" had been painted. The image pulled your eye in until it was following the street up and down hills, past buildings to the horizon. My mind and stomach sensed the up and down motion of the terrain just standing in front of the picture.

It passed the "could I look at it every day?" test with flying colors.

When I felt a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see a smiling man with his hand outstretched. In it was one of the shiny gold buttons that marched, double-breasted, down my navy blue dress.

"I saw this on the floor and I'd seen you in your dress earlier, so I thought it might be yours," he explained. It was a good guess, although embossed gold buttons are a bit of a giveaway.

How had I lost it, hugging someone maybe? Or had I caught it on one of the pedestals when I leaned over trying to view a photograph while people stood blathering with their backs to it? Maybe it was just one of those chance things whereby life has you meet someone you might not otherwise.

Because, contrary to popular opinion, I don't yet know everybody. Never underestimate the power of a dress...especially one that leaves a button trail.

That's Me In the Window

What's past is prologue.

In other words, the back story prepares us for and increases appreciation of the present.

That's where I am, that was a topic of discussion tonight and that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Tonight's festivities began on the balcony of the apartment of yours truly where we downed a bottle of Gazela vinho verde while listening to Big Star and dicussing my musical illiteracy.

Additional company arrived and with them, a fruity and floral bottle of Laxas 2010 Albarino (or, as a wine geek friend says, "hay and honeysuckle," which I consider far more poetic) so we moved inside for more companionable chatting.

While listening to music from her youth (Mamas and Papas), they told us about their visit to the country for Memorial Day weekend (champagne glasses broken and much tequila consumed).

At long last we moved on to our true purpose: the first Friday art walk.

Wine is fine, but art makes you smart.

We began at Ghostprint Gallery for the Richmond Illustrators' Show, an annual juried event.

I'll be the first to admit that this is a favorite yearly exhibit of mine, mainly because it gives me a read on the state of the illustrative world.

Especially satisfying was seeing familiar Richmond names, despite the 400 international entries they got for this show.

Bizhan Khodabandeh (satisfyingly, I own one of his illustrations), Barry Bruner (former J-Ward resident), and Will Godwin (multi-talented in both visual art and music) all hung on the walls of the gallery.

Others I know but don't have a personal connection to were there as well: Leslie Herman (his Okkervil River/Wye Oak illustration reminded me of that awesome show at the National) and  Holly Camp, whose "Welcome to Iceland" belied the fact that she'd never been.

My friends were bewitched with Wouter Tulp's music related illustrations (Charlie Parker, the Beatles and Madonna) for their authenticity and insight.

I will definitely need to go back and see this show a second time.

Next up was the new show at Candela Gallery, "Unbound," an ideal description of the off-the-wall photographs that defined this show.

Alex Artz's vaguely disturbing photo of a woman and a doe perched on a bed.

I didn't want to know what their relationship was.

The  stark "Marine, Hotel near Airport, Richmond, VA" was positively painterly.

Joni Sternbach's three images of people and ocean looked like vintage Hawaiian postcards, right down to the bronzed hardbodies.

"Girl in the Backseat" showed a young thing in platform shoes, held together with duct tape, but still looking expectant about what the night held.

As was I.

I loved "In the Window," which resembled a vintage "naughty" postcard from the turn of the last century.

Joshua Hobson's "Schoolgirls at the Palace" was all young legs and hidden faces sprawling on the steps.

I was quite surprised to see a photograph by a familiar name, Alex Nyerges, called "Rome Streetscape- Villa Barberini," with taxi rooves from an upper window looking like hansom cabs of another era.

Two shows with multiple global talent gathered for us in Richmond, Virginia.

Damn, we have it good.

Dinner followed at Amour, all the more satisfying because it was my friends' first time there,

We began with Luceien Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace Blan de Blanc because nothing says Friday night post-birthday celebration like bubbles.

And because I can drink sparkling absolutely anytime.

Over discussion of exes, currents and gifts, we savored shitake mushrooms stuffed with chives and comte, a charcuterie plate loaded with Olli meats (the speck was my favorite), salad and crabcakes with remoulade.

My friends are soon off to Las Vegas, so we discussed with the owner where they needed to eat

Dessert was an exact repeat of my birthday dinner a week ago (and, after all, we were still celebrating me), namely the dark chocolate caramel creme brulee with sea salt and the assortment of sorbets (kiwi, grapefruit, orange, strawberry and espresso).

By this time, they were so enamored of Amour as to make a reservation for her upcoming birthday dinner on Bastille Day.

I have no idea where I'll be raising the French flag that day.

But I do hope my past will be a lesson for my future.

With or without bubbles, I know I don't want to repeat the mistakes of the past.

There will be no photograph of me and a doe in bed.