Music Framed by Absinthe

The average museum-goer spends 40 seconds in front of a work of art.

So today's program at the VMFA, "Art Framed with Music," intended to extend that to give us four to five minutes with nine selected works.

Virginia Wesleyan's artist-in-residence, Lee Jordan-Anders, had chosen the pieces from the museum's collection and then selected music to accompany each in hopes of firing up our imaginations.

A grand piano sat onstage and she wasted no time in showing us Degas' "Little Dancer," saying it was the only one of his sculptures exhibited in his lifetime, and playing Debussy's "Danse," a perfect match to exemplify the marriage of art and music.

That Debussy had been only 28 when he wrote it explained the youthful vibrancy of the piece.

Next she showed Pomodoro's "Rotating Sphere," and my music-loving companion and I gasped.

It was the sculpture that used to sit in the circle in front of the VMFA's entrance before the renovation.

The one I passed every time I went to Jumpin' in July. The one that greeted you at the entrance to the sculpture garden. The one I passed on a first date 20 years ago.

I hadn't seen it in years, so its unexpected presence was a complete surprise and memory trigger at the same time.

Leaning in to me, he said, "Wow, does that ever take me back."

Jordan-Anders had brilliantly chosen Prokofiev's "Prelude in C, Opus 12, No. 7" to accompany it, a piece that began by shimmering like the brushed surface of the sphere before breaking into dissonance and staccato notes to suggest the jagged edges of the sphere's center.

My music buddy and I looked at each other like two cats who had swallowed the canary. This was so up our alley.

Watteau's "The Gazer" got us a Couperin piece and lots of symbolism.

"Les Folies Francaises" was a series of colors set to music and the colors in the music (white for virginity, pink for modesty, red for ardor, green for hope) were reflected in the painting.

Very cool.

For the painting everyone knows, "Portrait of an Extraordinary Musical Dog," Jordan-Anders shared a photo of her dog at her piano.

But it was what she said that was interesting.

In 1805, Beethoven had played ten performances in England, an extraordinary amount for the time and especially compared to how much he played in his native Austria.

In gratitude for the welcome, he'd written all kinds of stirring variations on "God Save the King," the sheet music shown in the painting.

Gratitude music, so to speak.

Manet's "On the Beach, Boulogne sur Mer" depicted a serene beach scene, so she sorted through a lot of dramatic water music to find Cras' "Paysage Maritime."

Explaining that Cras "had a day job" (he was an admiral in the French Navy), this lesser known composer may have had limited time to work on music, but this piece showed how well he knew the sea, with layers of sound to match Manet's layers of paint.

As my companion noted, "By the end, I forgot where I was." And how.

For Monet's "Field of Poppies," she chose another Debussy, "Mouvement" from Images, Book I.

"I felt like the poppies needed life," she explained. The music was just moody enough for the cloudy day depicted.

We moved on to Americans with Robert Henri's "Spanish Girl of Madrid" and Gottschalk's "Souvenirs D'Andalousic," originally an improvised piece.

Henri's painting got music with bits of what sounded like Spanish folk songs, probably the kind that Spanish girl might have danced to in a tavern.

"Spring Song" by Paul Sample showed a man at an upright, cigar in mouth and beer on piano, with a bartender looking on, a testament to the artist's attraction to the common man.

Paired with Gershwin's "I Got Rhythm," it was a suitable soundtrack for a very American looking scene.

Last up was one of Mark Rothko's many "Untitled" paintings, this one color fields of bluish-green, pure line, shape and color.

Jordan-Anders made the point that the advent of photography had freed artists from the constraints of depicting reality, leading to much of 20th century art.

Accordingly, she'd chosen Aaron Copland's "For Leo Smit, No. 1 from Piano Blues" because it was pure sound, with no set meter and unusual harmonies.

My only complaint with it was that it was too short, but then I'm a Copland fan.

It seemed like our visual and sonic journey through the imagination had just begun when it ended.

Unwilling to let the mood go, the musician next to me and I climbed the stairs to Amuse for a sip and a long discussion of what we'd just experienced.

It was surprisingly lively up there for after 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon and even included my Princess Di friend, who spends every Sunday afternoon there conducting his own little salon with a rotating cast.

He invited me to join, but I had music geek talk to attend to.

It was also happy hour and I do appreciate weekend happy hours, so I ordered an absinthe drip in part so my absinthe-ignorant companion could watch the process.

Okay, and because it's just the thing to savor after being bathed in music and art.

I was lucky to have attended the show with someone even more of a music geek than me because happy hour allowed us the time to go back through the program, discussing the pairings and the musical selections.

Both of us were amazed that Jordan-Anders had used no sheet music for any of the pieces she played.

We'd both been terribly impressed with the Jean Cras piece, marveling at a man who could sail the seas and capture them in music, too.

It was his first time hearing Debussy live and he couldn't wait to get home and start doing his musical research.

One thing that puzzled us both was that during the introduction, they'd said that the museum was testing out Sunday afternoon programs to gauge interest.

Are you guys kidding?

2:00 on a Sunday is a perfectly wonderful time to have a program.

It allows me a culture fix and time to make it upstairs for Princess Di's Sunday salon and a drip.

I think I'll wear red to show my ardor for the idea.

Amuse & "Art" If It Makes You Happy, You Can Afford It

If it weren't for all the entertaining of the bar crowd that I do, the staff of Amuse would no doubt be sick of me by now.

But if I'm going to a play at the museum at 8:00, the fact is I'm going to park once and party twice and that means drinks and dinner at Amuse.

Only one bar stool stood empty when I arrived. We call that kismet.

Since not everyone takes up residence at the bar, I had a rotating cast of people with whom I could converse, making for a lively evening before heading downstairs to the theater.

My sparkling rose arrived almost unbidden, but I declined  a dinner menu for the time being.

I soon had the pleasure of one of the curator's company while he waited for his dining companions, but I had to work for it..

Ignoring the empty stool beside me, he stood at the end of the bar, necessitating me asking him, "What's wrong with sitting next to me?"

Bartender Stephen kindly gave me a reference, saying, "You're not going to get better conversation anywhere else."

Thus vetted, he was willing to give me a shot and sat down next to me.

It's hard to do better than a curator for company when you're at a museum.

After an enjoyable talk, I lost him to his tardy friends.

I met a charming couple from Alexandria, visiting for the day (she was a teacher on spring break) to see Picasso.

Learning I was a DC native, they asked me all kinds of questions about Richmond and what to do on their next trip down.

Being the unabashed supporter of our fair city that I am, I gushed to the point that they asked if I worked for the tourism board.

And then I sent them on their way insisting they take Monument Avenue out so they'd have one last scenic view before it got dark and they had to hit soul-sucking I-95.

They thanked me profusely.

They were soon replaced by another even younger couple who reluctantly admitted that they had just seen the Picasso show despite living a mere five blocks from the museum.

Hey, it's not for me to judge.

They are three weeks from their wedding day, so their excuse was that they hadn't been getting out much due to wedding responsibilities.

Tonight was their big date night out and they were reveling in it.

When they discovered where I live, they wanted the scoop on First Fridays and I gave them both the larger and smaller picture; they were practically taking notes.

"We'll look for you!" they said.

I didn't have the heart to explain the folly of that.

Although I'd heartily recommended the mussels and Sausagecraft sausage in garlic butter to both couples (who raved about them and thanked me), I couldn't let Stephen tease me for ordering them yet again.

I more than made do with the grilled asparagus with garlic and  Pecorino in olive oil, followed by the seared rare Ahi tuna over sticky rice with a coconut green curry dressing and fried ginger.

My friends followed suit by getting the tuna once they saw mine and heard me raving.

All of a sudden it was 7:55, so I hightailed it down three flights to the Leslie Cheek Theater.

I was excited because this run of Yasmina Reza's "Art" is the first production at the theater in eight years.

And it was a joint effort of Richmond Shakespeare and Sycamore Rouge, making for double the talent.

I'd seen many plays at Theater Virginia back before it had been closed down prior to the VMFA renovation.

An all-black cast production of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" remains a favorite to this day.

The Tony-award winning play about art, friendship and philosophy was great fun.

It centered on three friends, one of whom had spent 200,000 francs on a white on white painting ("Can you see the lines?" the purchaser asks his friend), much to the consternation of his long-time buddy, whom he accused of "running down modernism."

The third friend is far more accepting ("If it makes him happy, he can afford it") but becomes the target of barbs from the other two for trying to quell their disagreements about the painting.

But it wasn't as much about the painting as it was about the friendship and eventually the one admits to the other, "The older I get, the more offensive I hope to become."

Not me.

How can I expect curators and visitors to sit next to me that way?

Don't Take Away My Storm Art

A few months ago, a storm brought down an enormous piece of a tree in front of a house on Grace Street. I walked around it for days, wondering why the city or the homeowner didn't move it out of the way.

And then one day, it had been moved up and laid down on the little front yard of a house. The piece of tree was huge; it was easily 12' long, with branches making it maybe 6' wide.

A few days later, I noticed someone had wrapped colorful ribbons around some of the trunk and branches. Then parts of it were painted a variety of colors. Eventually, little pieces of mirror were hung from the branches. Additional shards of mirror were laid under and behind the tree.

Because I passed by the tree on my daily walk, I was able to notice every time something new was added. Like the twinkle lights. And, once holiday season arrived, vintage-looking Christmas balls in blue and pink. The storm debris tree had become bona fide public art.

A friend joined me on my walk last week and when we came abreast of it, he made no comment; so I pointed it out, telling him how much pleasure I got from seeing it every day. It was as pleasurable in the rain and snow as it was in the sunshine.

So I was shocked today when, upon approaching it, I saw that the poor tree scrap was practically naked. Only ribbons and paint remained on the trunk.

A girl stood near the tree on the porch surveying it, so I figured she was the person to ask. "You're not taking it down, are you?" I asked, probably sounding inappropriately desperate.

"No, no," she said reassuringly. "But it's been so wet lately, it was looking kind of bad. When I walked by, it was making me more sad than happy."

"So it's just getting a facelift, then?" I inquired. She nodded. "Exactly."

Good thing. You can't spoil me with yard art and then take it away. Well, you can, but that block would never be the same.

From the wrath of the weather gods to Grace Street, art for passers-by. I get it. In fact, I love it.