As days turn to nights with zero time for blogging, it's probably best to think of these as postcards.
Greetings from First Fridays...
You know it's going to be a great evening when the owner of Chez Foushee asks how close you'd like to sit to the bossa nova band. We put just enough distance between the music and our conversation to enjoy both.
Meanwhile, we took our time with crab bisque, olives and Marcona almonds in herbed oil and a couple of Foushee market salads loaded with cannellini beans, craisins, toasted almonds and red onions over peppery arugula with green goddess dressing. The salad choice was a matter of necessity once I found out that their long-standard brussels sprouts salad (the one with bacon, red onions and bleu cheese) has been put out to pasture. I may never recover from the loss, though a dense dark chocolate mousse helped ease the pain somewhat.
Our art fix was taken at the main library with "Herald 4- Drawing from the Knew," an exhibit of seven regional artists working in vastly different styles. At 1708, we took in "Yo, Bruce: Gerald Donato + Bruce Wilhelm" because the playful nature of Donato's work never gets old. At Black Iris for the "Sink or Swim" show, my favorite was the drawing that incorporated Popeye, Olive Oil and Wimpy into one image (and probably unrecognizable to a younger viewer). Candela Gallery's group show, "Channels" of work by Willie Anne Wright, Courtney Johnson and Lisa Kokin was compelling, none more so than Kokin's mixed media sewn collages using old black and white photographs of people sewn together.
Because we're all connected, right?
Greetings from Peaches, home to 45s
Even if there had been no crate of surprises, the meal would have been memorable. Holmes, Beloved and I ventured out of their usual comfort zone for a meal taken at the corner of Nota Bene's bar. Holmes went in looking for the cauliflower that had changed his opinion about cauliflower, only to find it (like the brussels sprout salad at Chez Foushee) M.I.A. Where he scored points was in suggesting we get the brocaletti with red peppers and anchovy breadcrumbs instead.
Since when does Holmes suggest a vegetable he can't even pronounce? Or, more to the point, who was I with and what had he done with Holmes?
Bottles of Rosabella Rose (unfortunately, they were out of the Arianna Occhipinti Grillo we'd requested) accompanied the brocaletti, along with an arugula salad with red onion, fennel and sweety drops. One of the servers told us she'd been so enamored of the sweety drops that she'd ordered an entire jar for herself. I have to say, Holmes, Beloved and I were mighty taken with the teardrop-shaped cross between a cherry tomato and a jalapeno that managed to taste both sweet and tart at once.
Next we went on a fungi bender, first with a wild mushroom, roasted garlic, caramelized onion and Fontina pizza (with crust to die for) and then with a special of tagliarini with an array of mushrooms in a cream sauce. The tagliarini was so tender, it all but melted in your mouth.
Dessert was an extravaganza, with tiramisu (Beloved's first ever), lemon buttermilk zeppole with dark chocolate dipping sauce and the dessert du jour, a fig crostata. We paired the latter two with Barolo Chinato, as lovely an accompaniment to a sweet course as could be hoped for. And that rustic fig crostata, well, its thick, barely sweet crust was worthy of the figs and that's saying a lot coming from a fig fanatic.
The evening's soundtrack came courtesy of Holmes' buddy who'd been downsizing. Seems Holmes stopped by and scooped up an old Peaches crate filled with 45s. Granted, you have to be pretty seasoned to remember what Peaches was and that they sold crates for records, but none of us had any trouble.
There was loads of Elvis Costello, only a couple from the Beatles, plus the Jam, the Stranglers, B52s and a host of other '80s bands. We spent the evening working our way through the 45s, occasionally going to an album (can you ever hear too much Brass Ring, really?) for a side just to give Holmes a break on the turntable.
Greetings from the land of secession
When the day is spent driving to and from Norfolk, where signs with dire warnings of "High tide gate testing Tuesday 1 a.m." foreshadow the impending hurricane, it's best if the evening involves no car time. Fortunately, Conch Republic was no more than a brief stroll for a view of skulling boats, setting sun and a photo shoot for the restaurant at a nearby table.
In what was no doubt early preparation for Florence's arrival, all the umbrellas had been taken off the deck, unfortunate since the sun continues to shine until the weather system arrives. I made do by sitting with my back to the sun, but given that it's (sadly) nearly mid-September, it slid behind the trees before too long.
Broadbent Vino Verde washed down conch chowder, a wedge salad ("What kind of dressing do you want on that?" our young server asks. Um, bleu cheese because it wouldn't be a true wedge salad without it?) and a California Cobb. Over at the Boathouse, we saw tiki torches burning on their deck, although I can no longer think of them without thinking of last year's white supremacy march at UVA. Damn neo-Nazis spoil everything for the whole group. What's next, beach umbrellas?
I know, I know, I'm leaving out an awful lot for someone with lots to say who hasn't blogged in days, but you know what? It's going to get worse before it gets better. Depending on how Flo decides to behave, things could get even crazier next week. And the week after? Forget about it.
When you throw your lot in with a planner, there's bound to be too much adventure to document it all. All I can tell you is that my aim is true.
Showing posts with label first friday art walk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label first friday art walk. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Twin Peaks
It was First Fridays on steroids.
The fun began at the Anderson Gallery for the opening of "Judith Godwin: Early Abstractions."
After hearing the artist's talk last night, I was eager to see her work firsthand.
It was fascinating to watch the progression of her work from her junior year in college through the late '60s.
From the earliest academic painting where she was clearly trying to break down form, through the exquisite "Martha Graham: Lamentation," with its otherworldly blues and suggestion of a black figure in motion to what she called her "Japanese period," I was mesmerized by her development as an artist.
Walking by a student on gallery duty, I heard her lament, "As a young painter, I can't imagine what it felt like to live through that period she did."
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the period she's living through has the potential to be just as impressive to an artist-to-be not yet born.
Assuming, that is, that she and her artistic-minded peers persevere and stay true to themselves.
And if the work of the young Judith Godwin in the galleries there didn't inspire her to that, she was already hopeless.
By the end, I concluded that my favorite was probably "Blue Storm" from 1963 for its evocation of the range of dark blues where horizon separates sky and sea in the run-up to a bad storm.
Coinciding with that show was the VMFA's "Gesture: Judith Godwin and Abstract Expressionism," which included work from her entire career as well as that of other artists in the collection.
Making my way around the gallery, it was a shock to finally see one of Godwin's works from the '70s.
The progression was clear and only became more so with the '80s and '90s works.
Her brushstrokes became looser, her palette lighter with softer colors.
It was a crash course in the art of one woman, surrounded by other second wave abstract expressionists, including several Virginians.
I don't know how a young painter, or anyone with a shred of interest in painting, could walk away without a profound appreciation for the talent of a woman who fought the very male mainstream of the time and stayed true to her vision.
But maybe I should check with a young painter just to be sure.
After getting a healthy dose of Godwin, we moved upstairs to Amuse for dinner.
When we sat down at the bar, the bartender reminded me that I was sitting next to a neighbor.
Sure enough, the woman sitting there lives a half a block from me.
It's a small world after all at the VMFA.
It was a lovely time to be in Amuse, with the last hour of daylight making for a pale and then deep blue sky.
With the impending opening of the museum's Asian galleries, Amuse's menu has taken a turn eastward.
After scoring Michael Shaps' VMFA viognier and a split of Cristalino cava, we couldn't resist the pork buns stuffed with cucumber and scallions served with pickled onions and hoisin sauce.
Let's just say that the kitchen clearly has a knack for Asian flavors.
We were told about a dish so brand-new that it hadn't even made it on to tonight's menu, so that was our decision made.
General Tso's chicken used thigh meat and came over jasmine rice with tempura asparagus atop it.
The bartender had recommended the Kung Pao beef for its Szechuan spiciness, but admitted that she hadn't had the new dish, so she was unsure about its spiciness.
The first bite yielded the answer; there was a subtle but distinct heat on the finish that delivered the kicker.
Take-out Tso's never tasted so good.
Conversation ranged all over the place, with our bartender frequently supplying her opinion.
Burning issues like what percentage of men 20 to 60 recognize a good woman when they meet one?
I got one 50% and one 10%, so no conclusions could be drawn.
While making up our mind about dessert, we shared a new drink on the cocktail menu, the Ice Cube.
It came in a glass with only a straw sized opening, but inside the glass was tequila, Chambord, agave, lime juice, grapefruit juice and Sprite.
Oh, yes, and a big, round Chambord-colored ice cube.
It was like a ship in a bottle. How did that big cube get in a glass with only a straw-sized hole?
Hint: you'll need to drink one to find out.
Given the subtlely blended flavors, that shouldn't be too difficult.
I'm not even a cocktail drinker and I slurped down my half.
Dessert was a chocolate hazelnut tort, an extremely moist way to end a meal.
And for possibly the first time since Picasso, I did not end my meal with an absinthe drip.
The Ice Cube had taken precedence.
By the time we left, I had to hightail it back to J-Ward to catch a couple of major shows.
My first stop was Ghostprint Gallery for "Josh George: The Scientific Method," a show of much larger works than I'd seen from him before.
But having just come from Godwin's shows, I was already adjusted to paintings done large.
George uses paint and collage and the pieces in this show, done over a five-month period he told me, were darker than the ones I'd seen last fall.
Even the titles were darker: "First Line of Defense in the Frozen Yogurt Wars" and "The Organ Harvesters."
The artist was there, but as usual, we talked more restaurants than art.
I was happy to hear that the show will be up for two months so I can take a friend and see it again.
Leaving Ghostprint so they could lock up, my final stop was Gallery 5 for "&@$#!: An Exhibition of Comic Artists."
Walking in, I caught the last song of trio Houdan the Mystic, billed as "three beards playing instruments."
Honestly, that's most every band in town with number of beards the only variable.
I wouldn't want to judge any band by one song, but I did like what I heard of their psychedelic math rock.
From there, I went upstairs to check out the comic art.
Before I could even begin, I ran into Lily, the talented and ambitious woman who creates the large-scale puppets for the upcoming Halloween parade as well as the annual May Day parade.
She's busy preparing for the Halloween parade and told me this year's theme.
Saints and sinners and Virginia General Assembly puppets will represent the sinners.
How brilliant is that?
We hadn't seen each other in ages, so we took the time to catch up while the friend she was with patiently waited through our girl talk.
Suddenly I noticed something.
Peking out from Lily's dress was a black polka-dotted bra.
I immediately asked her friend to unzip my dress six inches.
Without so much as an inquiry why, he did so, allowing me to show Lily the top of my identical black polka-dotted bra.
So there we were, two grown women holding the tops of our twin bras next to the other one.
Lily turned to her unzipping friend. "Did you have any idea where that was going?"
Apparently he hadn't but was willing to go along for the ride.
You gottta love men.
That business addressed, I said my adieus and moved on to the art.
I found myself drawn to Julia Scott's work, including "Sirens" and "Joey," an ink, watercolor and Pentel piece.
My eye was captured by the shades of green and black that evoked the capped and bearded Joey.
Naturally I was attracted to James Callahan's "Barf Comics Cover" of the first-ever issue, with its cover tease of "Holy freakin' collector's item! You should probably buy two of 'em!!!"
That sense of humor is one of my favorite things about Callahan's work and one of the reasons I have a Callahan hanging in my apartment.
Greg Roth's three pieces of ink on paper showed very different scenes.
One was "Conan: Born in the Battlefield" of men in horned helmets with swords, while the other two, "Freaks of the Heartland" were of figures in overalls out in a rural setting.
By the time I finished reading comics, I heard music starting and headed downstairs.
Quintet Way, Shape or Form was playing their second show tonight.
As they began to play, I stood near the window where I could see the fire performers finishing up their acts of derring-do to the beats of two DJs.
What I didn't expect was that when the fire performers stopped, the music was cranked louder and spontaneous dancing in the street began as the audience took over center stage.
After a few minutes, things got very Soul Train with a group of four guys taking turns trying to outdo each other with their moves.
But I wanted to pay attention to WSoF because their electronic indie pop was awfully catchy.
The lead singer had a great voice and was kept busy turning knobs and playing guitar.
All of a sudden I had company at the window when a woman came over to look outside and found the dance party in full swing.
"Her momma should have taught her not to go out in shorts like that," the woman clucked about the leopard-print shorts as short as any underwear and even tighter.
For the record, the woman speaking was probably no more than ten years older than the girl dancing, but was clearly calling it as she saw it.
I left her to her voyeurism and went back to figuring out what I was liking about WSoF.
With hints of chillwave, post rock and enough electronica to get some of the dance party stragglers moving now that they'd moved inside, I found a lot to like.
And if this really was their second show, bravo, boys.
But they were full of youthful energy/enthusiasm and when they finished their set, said they were heading down two blocks to do another show at the Bug house with some other electronic bands.
Tempting as that sounded, I already had plans to walk down two blocks and finally bring my first Friday to a close.
I just hope I didn't miss the show of a lifetime.
Come on, the bug house?
Only in Jackson Ward and only on first Friday.
The fun began at the Anderson Gallery for the opening of "Judith Godwin: Early Abstractions."
After hearing the artist's talk last night, I was eager to see her work firsthand.
It was fascinating to watch the progression of her work from her junior year in college through the late '60s.
From the earliest academic painting where she was clearly trying to break down form, through the exquisite "Martha Graham: Lamentation," with its otherworldly blues and suggestion of a black figure in motion to what she called her "Japanese period," I was mesmerized by her development as an artist.
Walking by a student on gallery duty, I heard her lament, "As a young painter, I can't imagine what it felt like to live through that period she did."
I didn't have the heart to tell her that the period she's living through has the potential to be just as impressive to an artist-to-be not yet born.
Assuming, that is, that she and her artistic-minded peers persevere and stay true to themselves.
And if the work of the young Judith Godwin in the galleries there didn't inspire her to that, she was already hopeless.
By the end, I concluded that my favorite was probably "Blue Storm" from 1963 for its evocation of the range of dark blues where horizon separates sky and sea in the run-up to a bad storm.
Coinciding with that show was the VMFA's "Gesture: Judith Godwin and Abstract Expressionism," which included work from her entire career as well as that of other artists in the collection.
Making my way around the gallery, it was a shock to finally see one of Godwin's works from the '70s.
The progression was clear and only became more so with the '80s and '90s works.
Her brushstrokes became looser, her palette lighter with softer colors.
It was a crash course in the art of one woman, surrounded by other second wave abstract expressionists, including several Virginians.
I don't know how a young painter, or anyone with a shred of interest in painting, could walk away without a profound appreciation for the talent of a woman who fought the very male mainstream of the time and stayed true to her vision.
But maybe I should check with a young painter just to be sure.
After getting a healthy dose of Godwin, we moved upstairs to Amuse for dinner.
When we sat down at the bar, the bartender reminded me that I was sitting next to a neighbor.
Sure enough, the woman sitting there lives a half a block from me.
It's a small world after all at the VMFA.
It was a lovely time to be in Amuse, with the last hour of daylight making for a pale and then deep blue sky.
With the impending opening of the museum's Asian galleries, Amuse's menu has taken a turn eastward.
After scoring Michael Shaps' VMFA viognier and a split of Cristalino cava, we couldn't resist the pork buns stuffed with cucumber and scallions served with pickled onions and hoisin sauce.
Let's just say that the kitchen clearly has a knack for Asian flavors.
We were told about a dish so brand-new that it hadn't even made it on to tonight's menu, so that was our decision made.
General Tso's chicken used thigh meat and came over jasmine rice with tempura asparagus atop it.
The bartender had recommended the Kung Pao beef for its Szechuan spiciness, but admitted that she hadn't had the new dish, so she was unsure about its spiciness.
The first bite yielded the answer; there was a subtle but distinct heat on the finish that delivered the kicker.
Take-out Tso's never tasted so good.
Conversation ranged all over the place, with our bartender frequently supplying her opinion.
Burning issues like what percentage of men 20 to 60 recognize a good woman when they meet one?
I got one 50% and one 10%, so no conclusions could be drawn.
While making up our mind about dessert, we shared a new drink on the cocktail menu, the Ice Cube.
It came in a glass with only a straw sized opening, but inside the glass was tequila, Chambord, agave, lime juice, grapefruit juice and Sprite.
Oh, yes, and a big, round Chambord-colored ice cube.
It was like a ship in a bottle. How did that big cube get in a glass with only a straw-sized hole?
Hint: you'll need to drink one to find out.
Given the subtlely blended flavors, that shouldn't be too difficult.
I'm not even a cocktail drinker and I slurped down my half.
Dessert was a chocolate hazelnut tort, an extremely moist way to end a meal.
And for possibly the first time since Picasso, I did not end my meal with an absinthe drip.
The Ice Cube had taken precedence.
By the time we left, I had to hightail it back to J-Ward to catch a couple of major shows.
My first stop was Ghostprint Gallery for "Josh George: The Scientific Method," a show of much larger works than I'd seen from him before.
But having just come from Godwin's shows, I was already adjusted to paintings done large.
George uses paint and collage and the pieces in this show, done over a five-month period he told me, were darker than the ones I'd seen last fall.
Even the titles were darker: "First Line of Defense in the Frozen Yogurt Wars" and "The Organ Harvesters."
The artist was there, but as usual, we talked more restaurants than art.
I was happy to hear that the show will be up for two months so I can take a friend and see it again.
Leaving Ghostprint so they could lock up, my final stop was Gallery 5 for "&@$#!: An Exhibition of Comic Artists."
Walking in, I caught the last song of trio Houdan the Mystic, billed as "three beards playing instruments."
Honestly, that's most every band in town with number of beards the only variable.
I wouldn't want to judge any band by one song, but I did like what I heard of their psychedelic math rock.
From there, I went upstairs to check out the comic art.
Before I could even begin, I ran into Lily, the talented and ambitious woman who creates the large-scale puppets for the upcoming Halloween parade as well as the annual May Day parade.
She's busy preparing for the Halloween parade and told me this year's theme.
Saints and sinners and Virginia General Assembly puppets will represent the sinners.
How brilliant is that?
We hadn't seen each other in ages, so we took the time to catch up while the friend she was with patiently waited through our girl talk.
Suddenly I noticed something.
Peking out from Lily's dress was a black polka-dotted bra.
I immediately asked her friend to unzip my dress six inches.
Without so much as an inquiry why, he did so, allowing me to show Lily the top of my identical black polka-dotted bra.
So there we were, two grown women holding the tops of our twin bras next to the other one.
Lily turned to her unzipping friend. "Did you have any idea where that was going?"
Apparently he hadn't but was willing to go along for the ride.
You gottta love men.
That business addressed, I said my adieus and moved on to the art.
I found myself drawn to Julia Scott's work, including "Sirens" and "Joey," an ink, watercolor and Pentel piece.
My eye was captured by the shades of green and black that evoked the capped and bearded Joey.
Naturally I was attracted to James Callahan's "Barf Comics Cover" of the first-ever issue, with its cover tease of "Holy freakin' collector's item! You should probably buy two of 'em!!!"
That sense of humor is one of my favorite things about Callahan's work and one of the reasons I have a Callahan hanging in my apartment.
Greg Roth's three pieces of ink on paper showed very different scenes.
One was "Conan: Born in the Battlefield" of men in horned helmets with swords, while the other two, "Freaks of the Heartland" were of figures in overalls out in a rural setting.
By the time I finished reading comics, I heard music starting and headed downstairs.
Quintet Way, Shape or Form was playing their second show tonight.
As they began to play, I stood near the window where I could see the fire performers finishing up their acts of derring-do to the beats of two DJs.
What I didn't expect was that when the fire performers stopped, the music was cranked louder and spontaneous dancing in the street began as the audience took over center stage.
After a few minutes, things got very Soul Train with a group of four guys taking turns trying to outdo each other with their moves.
But I wanted to pay attention to WSoF because their electronic indie pop was awfully catchy.
The lead singer had a great voice and was kept busy turning knobs and playing guitar.
All of a sudden I had company at the window when a woman came over to look outside and found the dance party in full swing.
"Her momma should have taught her not to go out in shorts like that," the woman clucked about the leopard-print shorts as short as any underwear and even tighter.
For the record, the woman speaking was probably no more than ten years older than the girl dancing, but was clearly calling it as she saw it.
I left her to her voyeurism and went back to figuring out what I was liking about WSoF.
With hints of chillwave, post rock and enough electronica to get some of the dance party stragglers moving now that they'd moved inside, I found a lot to like.
And if this really was their second show, bravo, boys.
But they were full of youthful energy/enthusiasm and when they finished their set, said they were heading down two blocks to do another show at the Bug house with some other electronic bands.
Tempting as that sounded, I already had plans to walk down two blocks and finally bring my first Friday to a close.
I just hope I didn't miss the show of a lifetime.
Come on, the bug house?
Only in Jackson Ward and only on first Friday.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, October 7, 2011
No Two Ways About It
Everyone has days when they hate their life and I'm lucky that mine are mostly few and far between.
But I got so low today that a close friend advised, "It may be time to curl up with a good book and some relaxation time."
She was telling me to look after myself but I knew if I stayed in I'd just wallow in my maudlin mood.
So I went out and everywhere I went, random people saying nice things kept me occupied.
A gallery owner told me that my "Style Weekly" article about a painter had enticed a reader to come in to the gallery and he ended up buying two pieces of the artist's work.
Satisfaction.
An editor came up and said that she not only reads my blog but also my "Belle" column and has discovered interesting stuff she didn't know about there.
Flattery.
A musician I know stopped to introduce me to his fiance who, upon hearing my name, said, "Someone was just mentioning your name this afternoon, talking about what a supporter of the arts you are."
Renown.
A non-profit director asked me to consider being on their board because I am such a cheerleader for RVA.
Compliment.
For that matter, a handsome man got down on one knee and kissed my hand, saying that the moon was now shining brighter because of my arrival.
Charming bullshit.
And while all that was happening and I was strolling First Fridays, maudlin mercifully moved to the back burner.
Art 180 had taken over the empty space next to the Visual Arts Gallery with a series of large panels created by kids.
The theme was "What I Stand For" and on the front was their painted depiction of that and on the back, a written statement about the work.
Making my way around the colorful works, I was asked to give my own thoughts on what I stand for to a camerawoman.
I did my best spontaneous explanation of what matters to me, but it probably wasn't the ideal day to put me on the spot.
At Metro Gallery, Wade Mickley's assemblages addressed the unpredictability of life, underscoring my mood.
"An Undulating Mess" was a whimsical creature crafted from cut-up 45s with a cloud for a face.
A square picture of a bird was surrounded by nesting material and (again) clouds, making for a square nest in "Widespread and Abundant."
At Gallery 5, Abigail Larson's drawings and watercolors showed a definite nod to the macabre and the illustrative qualities of an Edward Gorey with lots of fluid lines and bizarre details.
In the Craft Gallery, the "Pin Pals" exhibit was a series of buttons made by artists and mounted on fabric swatches on woodblocks.
There were some talented names on display (Noah Scalin, Ryan McLennan) and many I'd never heard of, but the array of miniature art was impressive.
It might be the way to own an artist I couldn't otherwise afford.
That was all the art I had time for before high-tailing it to the Byrd for the bone-crushing organ skills of Cameron Carpenter.
The benefit for the theater (we will get new seats in my lifetime...I hope) was really well attended considering tickets were not cheap.
On the other hand, Carpenter is the world-renowned bad boy of organ playing, right down to his glittery wardrobe (silver lame suit and shoes with lights) and offbeat programs.
And speaking of programs, he never announces his in advance. The program has no, well, program.
Tonight he began with fast and loud (Chopin) with his lighted feet almost dancing on the pedals before going to slow and soft ("Colonial Song").
He did Bach before switching to Gershwin ("The Bach of American pop music," he opined), Henry Mancini and Kate Bush's "Cloudbusting" ("She's right up there with Tom Waits and Schubert").
Impressive.
Carpenter is not your mother's organist, but his mad organ skills make even the stuffiest classical music fans sit up and take notice.
Early on he'd announced, "I'm going to have a grand old time playing this marvelous monster," and that he'd only had twenty minutes of practice on it this afternoon.
Talking about where he might go with the musical selections, he said, "I've no more desire to hear serious organ music than you do."
But by the same token, he acknowledged that "Nobody wants to hear Lady Gaga on a pipe organ."
I'll do him one better. I don't want to hear Lady Gaga at all. And still haven't (a source of personal pride).
By the time the performance was over, the evening's distractions had traded places with the back burner's contents and there it all was again.
Lonely. Profoundly lonely.
But I got so low today that a close friend advised, "It may be time to curl up with a good book and some relaxation time."
She was telling me to look after myself but I knew if I stayed in I'd just wallow in my maudlin mood.
So I went out and everywhere I went, random people saying nice things kept me occupied.
A gallery owner told me that my "Style Weekly" article about a painter had enticed a reader to come in to the gallery and he ended up buying two pieces of the artist's work.
Satisfaction.
An editor came up and said that she not only reads my blog but also my "Belle" column and has discovered interesting stuff she didn't know about there.
Flattery.
A musician I know stopped to introduce me to his fiance who, upon hearing my name, said, "Someone was just mentioning your name this afternoon, talking about what a supporter of the arts you are."
Renown.
A non-profit director asked me to consider being on their board because I am such a cheerleader for RVA.
Compliment.
For that matter, a handsome man got down on one knee and kissed my hand, saying that the moon was now shining brighter because of my arrival.
Charming bullshit.
And while all that was happening and I was strolling First Fridays, maudlin mercifully moved to the back burner.
Art 180 had taken over the empty space next to the Visual Arts Gallery with a series of large panels created by kids.
The theme was "What I Stand For" and on the front was their painted depiction of that and on the back, a written statement about the work.
Making my way around the colorful works, I was asked to give my own thoughts on what I stand for to a camerawoman.
I did my best spontaneous explanation of what matters to me, but it probably wasn't the ideal day to put me on the spot.
At Metro Gallery, Wade Mickley's assemblages addressed the unpredictability of life, underscoring my mood.
"An Undulating Mess" was a whimsical creature crafted from cut-up 45s with a cloud for a face.
A square picture of a bird was surrounded by nesting material and (again) clouds, making for a square nest in "Widespread and Abundant."
At Gallery 5, Abigail Larson's drawings and watercolors showed a definite nod to the macabre and the illustrative qualities of an Edward Gorey with lots of fluid lines and bizarre details.
In the Craft Gallery, the "Pin Pals" exhibit was a series of buttons made by artists and mounted on fabric swatches on woodblocks.
There were some talented names on display (Noah Scalin, Ryan McLennan) and many I'd never heard of, but the array of miniature art was impressive.
It might be the way to own an artist I couldn't otherwise afford.
That was all the art I had time for before high-tailing it to the Byrd for the bone-crushing organ skills of Cameron Carpenter.
The benefit for the theater (we will get new seats in my lifetime...I hope) was really well attended considering tickets were not cheap.
On the other hand, Carpenter is the world-renowned bad boy of organ playing, right down to his glittery wardrobe (silver lame suit and shoes with lights) and offbeat programs.
And speaking of programs, he never announces his in advance. The program has no, well, program.
Tonight he began with fast and loud (Chopin) with his lighted feet almost dancing on the pedals before going to slow and soft ("Colonial Song").
He did Bach before switching to Gershwin ("The Bach of American pop music," he opined), Henry Mancini and Kate Bush's "Cloudbusting" ("She's right up there with Tom Waits and Schubert").
Impressive.
Carpenter is not your mother's organist, but his mad organ skills make even the stuffiest classical music fans sit up and take notice.
Early on he'd announced, "I'm going to have a grand old time playing this marvelous monster," and that he'd only had twenty minutes of practice on it this afternoon.
Talking about where he might go with the musical selections, he said, "I've no more desire to hear serious organ music than you do."
But by the same token, he acknowledged that "Nobody wants to hear Lady Gaga on a pipe organ."
I'll do him one better. I don't want to hear Lady Gaga at all. And still haven't (a source of personal pride).
By the time the performance was over, the evening's distractions had traded places with the back burner's contents and there it all was again.
Lonely. Profoundly lonely.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
New to Brunch? Follow Me
A great restaurant review will usually keep me away from a place for months.
No sense competing with the herds; it's easier to steer clear until the dust settles.
But then a group of us wanted to go to brunch today and it was such a beautiful day for a walk and Ettamae's has such a tasty brunch and so I just said damn the review and off we went.
As I suspected, with Broad Appetit tomorrow, brunch in J-Ward wasn't nearly as crowded as usual.
Every table on the patio was taken naturally, but I never mind sitting in the charming pink dining room, now much cooler with improvements in the a/c system.
Two of our party were completely new to Ettamae's and one had had dinner, so brunch was virgin territory for all three. Not so me, of course.
I always recommend Matt's corned beef, so one went the corned beef hash and eggs, another with one of today's specials, the stuffed French toast with mixed berries and cream cheese, and the third with the silver dollar pancakes, a menu staple with good reason.
Me, I was ready for lunch and took advantage of the roasted chicken salad over mesclun with some good looking tomato slices.
I love steering people to Ettamae's corned beef because I always get thanked for it. The four triangles of French toast were almost as thick as a club sandwich and got raves all around the table. The silver dollars were apparently as light as a feather.
By the time we went downstairs to pay, all three were converts to Ettamae's brunch (and about damn time, I say).
I couldn't help but ask co-owner Laura if the recent review had brought the suburbanites out of the woodwork; it had, she admitted.
My guess was that they handle coming to Jackson Ward the same way they do going to Carver to the Black Sheep.
That is, they drop off the women-folk right in front of the restaurant while the manly men park the over-sized vehicle and bravely walk the block to the restaurant. I got an affirmative on that.
But once inside, Laura says they squeal over how cute the place is and I know for a fact that they must enjoy the food because it's consistently terrific.
And it pleases me no end to have people come to my neighborhood, whether timidly or boldly, and spend money.
Even better if they decide to take a walk and check out its historic beauty after eating.
Jackson Ward: It's not just for First Fridays anymore.
No sense competing with the herds; it's easier to steer clear until the dust settles.
But then a group of us wanted to go to brunch today and it was such a beautiful day for a walk and Ettamae's has such a tasty brunch and so I just said damn the review and off we went.
As I suspected, with Broad Appetit tomorrow, brunch in J-Ward wasn't nearly as crowded as usual.
Every table on the patio was taken naturally, but I never mind sitting in the charming pink dining room, now much cooler with improvements in the a/c system.
Two of our party were completely new to Ettamae's and one had had dinner, so brunch was virgin territory for all three. Not so me, of course.
I always recommend Matt's corned beef, so one went the corned beef hash and eggs, another with one of today's specials, the stuffed French toast with mixed berries and cream cheese, and the third with the silver dollar pancakes, a menu staple with good reason.
Me, I was ready for lunch and took advantage of the roasted chicken salad over mesclun with some good looking tomato slices.
I love steering people to Ettamae's corned beef because I always get thanked for it. The four triangles of French toast were almost as thick as a club sandwich and got raves all around the table. The silver dollars were apparently as light as a feather.
By the time we went downstairs to pay, all three were converts to Ettamae's brunch (and about damn time, I say).
I couldn't help but ask co-owner Laura if the recent review had brought the suburbanites out of the woodwork; it had, she admitted.
My guess was that they handle coming to Jackson Ward the same way they do going to Carver to the Black Sheep.
That is, they drop off the women-folk right in front of the restaurant while the manly men park the over-sized vehicle and bravely walk the block to the restaurant. I got an affirmative on that.
But once inside, Laura says they squeal over how cute the place is and I know for a fact that they must enjoy the food because it's consistently terrific.
And it pleases me no end to have people come to my neighborhood, whether timidly or boldly, and spend money.
Even better if they decide to take a walk and check out its historic beauty after eating.
Jackson Ward: It's not just for First Fridays anymore.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Sail Me to Wales and Bring Cheeks
To-Do List/ Friday:
1. Pre-artwalk party at Emrick Flats
I'd been eager to see the inside of these condos since they'd opened and I finally got the chance when music friends invited me to a party in their sensationally art-decorated home. I met J-Ward neighbors, music lovers and three people who recognized me although I couldn't reciprocate. Coolest elements of the building: the old elevator that would move the cars from floor to floor when it was a showroom and the rooftop deck, perfect for watching fireworks from both the Diamond and RIR. The view is stunning; who knew how many rooftop gardens there were in Jackson Ward? My friends have even slept up there. I aspire to sleep on a roof with someone I love.
2. Gallery 5 opening
Upon walking in, a G5 stalwart comes up with a guy in tow and introduces me saying, "And here's a woman who looks as good from the back as she does from the front." The stranger introduces himself as a solo transAtlantic sailor ("I did it twice. Both ways!"). He also tells me he was the first white guy in Carver and my friend informs me that he's an incredibly talented furniture maker. "Wanna come over now and see my etchings and I'll make you dinner?" he asks. I am tickled to hear that chestnut of a line. When I politely decline he tells me that I'm missing the chance of a lifetime. Damn! Again?
3. Metro Gallery and ADA Gallery openings
The group show at Metro contains a drawing with my favorite title of the evening: "When We Get There, I Will Love You More" by Carly Troncale. Over at ADA, Kate Woodliffe's fabric collages convey a sense of unsewn whimsy in cloth, but I realize her hands must have become gnarled and cramped from so much precise cutting. I see various guests from the party earlier, receive a compliment on my bangs and get invited to a house show in Monroe Ward. I chalk it up to Tinkerbelle hovering over me from a collage above.
4. Reynolds Gallery opening (late addition)
One of the paintings in my friends' apartment at the Emrick Flats had been by a student of artist Heide Trepanier, and after admiring the follower, I couldn't resist going to see the teacher's opening. As is always the case at Reynolds, local art luminaries were in attendance (Richard Roth, Joe Seipel) and and the place was crowded with artsy types having earnest conversations. Trepanier's large-scale works were fluid, detailed and defined by color. A woman says to me, "Who would have thought those colors go together?' about a piece with pinkish red, aqua blue and pine green shapes. Heide Trepanier, that's who.
5. Dinner
Restaurants on Broad Street and Main Street were out because of their respective artwalks, so I drove down to the Slip to Bistro Bobette. When I'd seen Chef Francis yesterday, he'd told me that pork cheeks were in the house, but wouldn't last long (fallling off the fork-tender, served cassoulet-style with carrots, potatoes, celery, pearl onions no doubt had something to do with that); I ordered almost as soon as I sat down. Bartender Olivier immediately introduced me to a Welsh-born chap who moved to RVA from L.A. yesterday. Full of presumptions, I asked him if he wanted company. He did. Cotes de Ventoux Les Blaques, a rhubarb/vanilla rum cocktail and blood orange wine came next. If I am to be believed, scintillating conversation, extensive laughter and loads of innuendo also followed. His version would be, "They had a chat and he buggered off," but not before acknowledging that men give women their power (thus proving that he has a clue). Note: he did not bugger off; I left him sitting at the bar with lipstick kisses on both cheeks, European-style. He'd already stated how much he wanted that. Welcome to Richmond.
To-do list done.
1. Pre-artwalk party at Emrick Flats
I'd been eager to see the inside of these condos since they'd opened and I finally got the chance when music friends invited me to a party in their sensationally art-decorated home. I met J-Ward neighbors, music lovers and three people who recognized me although I couldn't reciprocate. Coolest elements of the building: the old elevator that would move the cars from floor to floor when it was a showroom and the rooftop deck, perfect for watching fireworks from both the Diamond and RIR. The view is stunning; who knew how many rooftop gardens there were in Jackson Ward? My friends have even slept up there. I aspire to sleep on a roof with someone I love.
2. Gallery 5 opening
Upon walking in, a G5 stalwart comes up with a guy in tow and introduces me saying, "And here's a woman who looks as good from the back as she does from the front." The stranger introduces himself as a solo transAtlantic sailor ("I did it twice. Both ways!"). He also tells me he was the first white guy in Carver and my friend informs me that he's an incredibly talented furniture maker. "Wanna come over now and see my etchings and I'll make you dinner?" he asks. I am tickled to hear that chestnut of a line. When I politely decline he tells me that I'm missing the chance of a lifetime. Damn! Again?
3. Metro Gallery and ADA Gallery openings
The group show at Metro contains a drawing with my favorite title of the evening: "When We Get There, I Will Love You More" by Carly Troncale. Over at ADA, Kate Woodliffe's fabric collages convey a sense of unsewn whimsy in cloth, but I realize her hands must have become gnarled and cramped from so much precise cutting. I see various guests from the party earlier, receive a compliment on my bangs and get invited to a house show in Monroe Ward. I chalk it up to Tinkerbelle hovering over me from a collage above.
4. Reynolds Gallery opening (late addition)
One of the paintings in my friends' apartment at the Emrick Flats had been by a student of artist Heide Trepanier, and after admiring the follower, I couldn't resist going to see the teacher's opening. As is always the case at Reynolds, local art luminaries were in attendance (Richard Roth, Joe Seipel) and and the place was crowded with artsy types having earnest conversations. Trepanier's large-scale works were fluid, detailed and defined by color. A woman says to me, "Who would have thought those colors go together?' about a piece with pinkish red, aqua blue and pine green shapes. Heide Trepanier, that's who.
5. Dinner
Restaurants on Broad Street and Main Street were out because of their respective artwalks, so I drove down to the Slip to Bistro Bobette. When I'd seen Chef Francis yesterday, he'd told me that pork cheeks were in the house, but wouldn't last long (fallling off the fork-tender, served cassoulet-style with carrots, potatoes, celery, pearl onions no doubt had something to do with that); I ordered almost as soon as I sat down. Bartender Olivier immediately introduced me to a Welsh-born chap who moved to RVA from L.A. yesterday. Full of presumptions, I asked him if he wanted company. He did. Cotes de Ventoux Les Blaques, a rhubarb/vanilla rum cocktail and blood orange wine came next. If I am to be believed, scintillating conversation, extensive laughter and loads of innuendo also followed. His version would be, "They had a chat and he buggered off," but not before acknowledging that men give women their power (thus proving that he has a clue). Note: he did not bugger off; I left him sitting at the bar with lipstick kisses on both cheeks, European-style. He'd already stated how much he wanted that. Welcome to Richmond.
To-do list done.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Pocahontas Was Not a Jesus Freak
The snowfall was an especially nice touch, as was the knight, but I could have done without the maggots.
For me, the first First Friday of 2011 began at the VMFA as they kicked off documentary month for their Friday Film series. Tonight's screening was Little White Feather and the Hunter, about the legend of Pocahontas, certainly a topic near and dear to the history of Virginia.
While the film's images of the estuary landscape of the Chesapeake Bay and Essex, England were striking, the voice overs seemed scattered; they ranged from ancestors of Pocahontas' tribe to anthropologists and archaeologists, all explaining their take on the Indian princess who moved to England and converted to Christianity ("She was looking for Jesus," one said. No, she wasn't, you wacko).
Call me a wimp, but I wasn't the only one who had a tough time seeing an image of a bloody, recently-killed deer strung up from a tree and drawn-out shots of oyster shucking seemed irrelevant after a while.
Mainly the film served to show the wide range of perceptions and misconceptions people still have about Pocahontas, both here and in England.
My innate nerdiness showed itself because I left feeling vaguely dissatisfied with having learned absolutely nothing new; the film was pretty but vapid and that's coming from a documentary dork.
Back in the Ward, I began my gallery tour at ADA Gallery for the Morgan Herrin piece, "Untitled." The 7' wooden sculpture of a knight who seems to have stalactites hanging downwards from his body like icicles, was the undisputed highlight of the evening.
I still remember my sheer awe at encountering his untitled female nude (the one bought by Lance Armstrong) on a Sunday morning on Floyd Avenue a few years ago; this piece has the same monumentality, classicism and skill with wood that stopped me in my tracks that day.
As I stood there gaping at the beauty of the work and wishing I could run my hand over it, a guy behind me said, "Now I just need to get my love life in order and life will be great." He said it so nonchalantly that I wanted to turn around and ask, "Yea, me, too. Exactly how do you do that?"
Over at Gallery 5, the Papier-Machete exhibit of paper works was packed, and with good reason. The large scale cut-out works were beautiful, full of energy and so intricate and detailed that the first thing I'd ask the artists is how long it took her (and what happened to her social life in the meantime).
I found the papier- mache road kill pieces especially clever; recreations of actual road kill were made and filled with wildflower seeds.
After the show, the pieces will be returned to the streets where their predecessors were first found and eventually the wildflowers will begin to sprout from their artistic shells. Naturally, photos will document the growth.
These pieces led to a discussion with a couple of (male) gallery-goers about finding dead animals (possums, armadillos and such) only to discover upon picking them up (something I would never do) that they were dead and full of maggots.
Descriptions of slime and decay followed and I made my escape, finding a couple of friends nearby with whom I could discuss more pleasant things.
On the way out I saw a box of faux cupcakes in GallowLily's "Sweet Home" exhibit and pretended to take a swipe of icing to make my friend Andrew laugh (I'm an icing licker from way back and he knows this. Hell, he's videotaped it).
Except that my gloved finger came up unexpectedly full of frosting. Oops. He backed away, saying, "I didn't see a thing," as I snagged the cupcake to remove the evidence of my folly, eating it as we made our way out.
The gloves had to come off, though; cupcakes lose a good part of their pleasure when finger-licking isn't possible. Lesson learned.
We decided to make our way to 1708 Gallery on the basis of another friend's endorsement of the Mathew Friday show there, based on the state of Texas banning mention of Thomas Jefferson in its history books. In Texas, though; really is anyone surprised?
"The Liberty of Empire" was structured almost like a workshop, exploring some of Thomas Jefferson's less-publicized passions (like his interest in anarchist Utopian communities, his budding interest in ecology and disdain for capitalism) and how they relate to our country today.
As the friend who had recommended the exhibit had told me, "Go see it once through tonight and then go back to really take it all in."
Since he's one of RVA's preeminent history buffs, I knew as soon as we got there that he was right. It was provocative, but tough to appreciate amongst the crowds; I will go back and explore what a raving lunatic TJ must have been to dream so big.
We walked into Quirk for a quick peek at the pottery show featuring a lot of large-sale jugs and vessels beautifully decorated, but the surprise came when we exited the gallery to find it seriously snowing. We are becoming a place where it snows regularly and no one's quite used to it.
It was beautiful and people around me were getting excited about it, although as a high school teacher I randomly spoke to told me, it was a waste. "What good does Friday snow do me?" Um, save you snow make-up days come June perhaps?
My friends were headed to the Slip/Bottom for a "bar hop" ("Do you mean pub crawl?" another friend humorously corrected) beginning at Sine' (again, her comment, "God, why there?"), but I was more in the mood for some wine, a view of the falling snow and a long chat with an old friend.
Got it all...without hopping or crawling.
For me, the first First Friday of 2011 began at the VMFA as they kicked off documentary month for their Friday Film series. Tonight's screening was Little White Feather and the Hunter, about the legend of Pocahontas, certainly a topic near and dear to the history of Virginia.
While the film's images of the estuary landscape of the Chesapeake Bay and Essex, England were striking, the voice overs seemed scattered; they ranged from ancestors of Pocahontas' tribe to anthropologists and archaeologists, all explaining their take on the Indian princess who moved to England and converted to Christianity ("She was looking for Jesus," one said. No, she wasn't, you wacko).
Call me a wimp, but I wasn't the only one who had a tough time seeing an image of a bloody, recently-killed deer strung up from a tree and drawn-out shots of oyster shucking seemed irrelevant after a while.
Mainly the film served to show the wide range of perceptions and misconceptions people still have about Pocahontas, both here and in England.
My innate nerdiness showed itself because I left feeling vaguely dissatisfied with having learned absolutely nothing new; the film was pretty but vapid and that's coming from a documentary dork.
Back in the Ward, I began my gallery tour at ADA Gallery for the Morgan Herrin piece, "Untitled." The 7' wooden sculpture of a knight who seems to have stalactites hanging downwards from his body like icicles, was the undisputed highlight of the evening.
I still remember my sheer awe at encountering his untitled female nude (the one bought by Lance Armstrong) on a Sunday morning on Floyd Avenue a few years ago; this piece has the same monumentality, classicism and skill with wood that stopped me in my tracks that day.
As I stood there gaping at the beauty of the work and wishing I could run my hand over it, a guy behind me said, "Now I just need to get my love life in order and life will be great." He said it so nonchalantly that I wanted to turn around and ask, "Yea, me, too. Exactly how do you do that?"
Over at Gallery 5, the Papier-Machete exhibit of paper works was packed, and with good reason. The large scale cut-out works were beautiful, full of energy and so intricate and detailed that the first thing I'd ask the artists is how long it took her (and what happened to her social life in the meantime).
I found the papier- mache road kill pieces especially clever; recreations of actual road kill were made and filled with wildflower seeds.
After the show, the pieces will be returned to the streets where their predecessors were first found and eventually the wildflowers will begin to sprout from their artistic shells. Naturally, photos will document the growth.
These pieces led to a discussion with a couple of (male) gallery-goers about finding dead animals (possums, armadillos and such) only to discover upon picking them up (something I would never do) that they were dead and full of maggots.
Descriptions of slime and decay followed and I made my escape, finding a couple of friends nearby with whom I could discuss more pleasant things.
On the way out I saw a box of faux cupcakes in GallowLily's "Sweet Home" exhibit and pretended to take a swipe of icing to make my friend Andrew laugh (I'm an icing licker from way back and he knows this. Hell, he's videotaped it).
Except that my gloved finger came up unexpectedly full of frosting. Oops. He backed away, saying, "I didn't see a thing," as I snagged the cupcake to remove the evidence of my folly, eating it as we made our way out.
The gloves had to come off, though; cupcakes lose a good part of their pleasure when finger-licking isn't possible. Lesson learned.
We decided to make our way to 1708 Gallery on the basis of another friend's endorsement of the Mathew Friday show there, based on the state of Texas banning mention of Thomas Jefferson in its history books. In Texas, though; really is anyone surprised?
"The Liberty of Empire" was structured almost like a workshop, exploring some of Thomas Jefferson's less-publicized passions (like his interest in anarchist Utopian communities, his budding interest in ecology and disdain for capitalism) and how they relate to our country today.
As the friend who had recommended the exhibit had told me, "Go see it once through tonight and then go back to really take it all in."
Since he's one of RVA's preeminent history buffs, I knew as soon as we got there that he was right. It was provocative, but tough to appreciate amongst the crowds; I will go back and explore what a raving lunatic TJ must have been to dream so big.
We walked into Quirk for a quick peek at the pottery show featuring a lot of large-sale jugs and vessels beautifully decorated, but the surprise came when we exited the gallery to find it seriously snowing. We are becoming a place where it snows regularly and no one's quite used to it.
It was beautiful and people around me were getting excited about it, although as a high school teacher I randomly spoke to told me, it was a waste. "What good does Friday snow do me?" Um, save you snow make-up days come June perhaps?
My friends were headed to the Slip/Bottom for a "bar hop" ("Do you mean pub crawl?" another friend humorously corrected) beginning at Sine' (again, her comment, "God, why there?"), but I was more in the mood for some wine, a view of the falling snow and a long chat with an old friend.
Got it all...without hopping or crawling.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sausage over Werewolves
I stretched my First Friday activities (gallery walking, a sandwich at Lift, music in the courtyard and running into all the usual suspects there) into first Saturday with brunch and a day-late art opening at Sprout this afternoon.
When we arrived, the two outside tables were taken, but inside it was just us.
I was amazed because lately the place has been packed every time I've been in, whether for music or a meal.
And, note to self, now that I know they do happy hour, I can think of any number of friends who'd be inclined to join me there for a glass and some chatting after a hard day at the factory.
Friend and I were both in a sausage mood (but then, when am I not?), made all the better for being local, so she got the sausage scramble and I got the sausage and egg breakfast sandwich.
Farm fresh eggs really are such a lovely difference from your supermarket specimens.
The new art show was by Mike Moses, a local Renaissance man who labels himself a tattooer/artist/researcher.
He also gardens, builds things (like the beautiful suspension frames around his paintings) and makes music.
I'm sure he does even more than that, but that's all he's admitted to me.
The show, "Hair of the Dog," is a series based on accounts from ancient times through the 18th century involving what we now call werewolves.
Being Mike Moses, he even crafted the paintbrushes (of human hair) that he used in this series.
Next time I see him, I'm thinking I'll ask whose hair was involved. Inquiring minds want to know.
As you can probably tell, I'm a long-time fan of the guy (owning one of his 2008 prints), but the new works have a completely different feel than what I have.
There's a dreamy, mythical quality to the new stuff and the frames are standouts for their unique look.
The pumpkin cheesecake recently added to the menu was also tempting, as were the oatmeal wedding cookies sitting on the counter when we'd walked in, but sausage and eggs had killed those dreams and we waddled out into the sunshine.
First Saturdays are so much brighter than First Fridays.
Or do my First Friday activities just make it seem that way?
When we arrived, the two outside tables were taken, but inside it was just us.
I was amazed because lately the place has been packed every time I've been in, whether for music or a meal.
And, note to self, now that I know they do happy hour, I can think of any number of friends who'd be inclined to join me there for a glass and some chatting after a hard day at the factory.
Friend and I were both in a sausage mood (but then, when am I not?), made all the better for being local, so she got the sausage scramble and I got the sausage and egg breakfast sandwich.
Farm fresh eggs really are such a lovely difference from your supermarket specimens.
The new art show was by Mike Moses, a local Renaissance man who labels himself a tattooer/artist/researcher.
He also gardens, builds things (like the beautiful suspension frames around his paintings) and makes music.
I'm sure he does even more than that, but that's all he's admitted to me.
The show, "Hair of the Dog," is a series based on accounts from ancient times through the 18th century involving what we now call werewolves.
Being Mike Moses, he even crafted the paintbrushes (of human hair) that he used in this series.
Next time I see him, I'm thinking I'll ask whose hair was involved. Inquiring minds want to know.
As you can probably tell, I'm a long-time fan of the guy (owning one of his 2008 prints), but the new works have a completely different feel than what I have.
There's a dreamy, mythical quality to the new stuff and the frames are standouts for their unique look.
The pumpkin cheesecake recently added to the menu was also tempting, as were the oatmeal wedding cookies sitting on the counter when we'd walked in, but sausage and eggs had killed those dreams and we waddled out into the sunshine.
First Saturdays are so much brighter than First Fridays.
Or do my First Friday activities just make it seem that way?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
First Fridays Music Walk
First Fridays have gotten to be as much about music as visual art and you can imagine how that pleases me. In between gallery hopping, there's music to be found for all kinds of tastes.
After hearing from several people that tonight was going to be a light turnout for the art walk, it was actually exceedingly busy. As the evening wore on, people seemed to keep coming and forming audiences in front of all the various musical entertainments.
Gallery 5 had always done music and tonight I heard British-born Freddie Stevenson as part of their new music series, the Accents Tour, showcases up and coming European and Australian musicians. Metro Space Gallery, too, is a reliable place for listening, although they tend to lean toward blues and rock bands. Art 6 is good about having interesting music on a regular basis; tonight it was My Son the Doctor playing Balkana nd Jewish folk music.
But there was also a cover band playing in the lot near Visual Arts and they had a Goth-clad belly dancer interpreting their covers of Bad Company and the like. A trio of earnest young horn players (they all had to be under 20) were playing near Corporate Museum and Frame.
And in the courtyard at Adams, which over the past year has become a reliably excellent place to hear music during First Fridays, both Lobo Marino and the Colloquial Orchestra were impressing the crowds.
But lest you think I just skipped over the primary purpose of the art walk, I didn't. "Self Titled" at G5 was an exhibit of original artwork used for independently-released albums. I was struck by how the actual art sometimes had a wholly different feel than the piece of it used on an album cover.
"Last Dowry" at Quirk was a collection of sumptuous pieces made of jewelry, satin ribbons and lush fabrics. Some were square, or egg-shaped, some were U-shaped and one looked like a bone. They were incredibly feminine looking and invited the viewer to touch their beautiful textures. I'd have guessed instantly that the artist was a woman; and indeed, her name was Vadis Turner.
I ran into plenty of friends tonight (and, no, I did not wear black, garnering compliments galore) since absolutely everyone seemed to be out and about. It was great to see my neighborhood full of visitors again after the relative calm of the summer months.
So after an evening of art and all kinds of music, I naturally went out for (what else?) more music. Sprout Cafe was having a show with Athens, Georgia's Madeline followed by Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird's last show until December. It all sounded good to me.
Madeline packed the room with probably forty people sitting, standing and sprawled on the floor, all eager to hear her unique voice and well-written emotive lyrics. Her voice and style owe a fair amount to Joni Mitchell and even Karen Carpenter.
At times she had an almost Irish lilt and at others her southern roots shone through (sometimes it is all about the dirty south). All in all, a stellar performance. Favorite lyric: "I want to be everything you need to prove."
JV and the Speckled Bird closed out my evening by superbly performing their last EP, The Fire Next Time. It was a fitting way to impress the room full of fans and give us something to remember until they're back playing live again.
And it won't have to be on a First Friday, but given the state of Richmond's art walk lately, it's certainly a possibility. Maybe we can get Madeline back to play her first album in its entirety, too.
It would be worth it for the title alone: Kissing and Dancing. Evocative, isn't it?
After hearing from several people that tonight was going to be a light turnout for the art walk, it was actually exceedingly busy. As the evening wore on, people seemed to keep coming and forming audiences in front of all the various musical entertainments.
Gallery 5 had always done music and tonight I heard British-born Freddie Stevenson as part of their new music series, the Accents Tour, showcases up and coming European and Australian musicians. Metro Space Gallery, too, is a reliable place for listening, although they tend to lean toward blues and rock bands. Art 6 is good about having interesting music on a regular basis; tonight it was My Son the Doctor playing Balkana nd Jewish folk music.
But there was also a cover band playing in the lot near Visual Arts and they had a Goth-clad belly dancer interpreting their covers of Bad Company and the like. A trio of earnest young horn players (they all had to be under 20) were playing near Corporate Museum and Frame.
And in the courtyard at Adams, which over the past year has become a reliably excellent place to hear music during First Fridays, both Lobo Marino and the Colloquial Orchestra were impressing the crowds.
But lest you think I just skipped over the primary purpose of the art walk, I didn't. "Self Titled" at G5 was an exhibit of original artwork used for independently-released albums. I was struck by how the actual art sometimes had a wholly different feel than the piece of it used on an album cover.
"Last Dowry" at Quirk was a collection of sumptuous pieces made of jewelry, satin ribbons and lush fabrics. Some were square, or egg-shaped, some were U-shaped and one looked like a bone. They were incredibly feminine looking and invited the viewer to touch their beautiful textures. I'd have guessed instantly that the artist was a woman; and indeed, her name was Vadis Turner.
I ran into plenty of friends tonight (and, no, I did not wear black, garnering compliments galore) since absolutely everyone seemed to be out and about. It was great to see my neighborhood full of visitors again after the relative calm of the summer months.
So after an evening of art and all kinds of music, I naturally went out for (what else?) more music. Sprout Cafe was having a show with Athens, Georgia's Madeline followed by Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird's last show until December. It all sounded good to me.
Madeline packed the room with probably forty people sitting, standing and sprawled on the floor, all eager to hear her unique voice and well-written emotive lyrics. Her voice and style owe a fair amount to Joni Mitchell and even Karen Carpenter.
At times she had an almost Irish lilt and at others her southern roots shone through (sometimes it is all about the dirty south). All in all, a stellar performance. Favorite lyric: "I want to be everything you need to prove."
JV and the Speckled Bird closed out my evening by superbly performing their last EP, The Fire Next Time. It was a fitting way to impress the room full of fans and give us something to remember until they're back playing live again.
And it won't have to be on a First Friday, but given the state of Richmond's art walk lately, it's certainly a possibility. Maybe we can get Madeline back to play her first album in its entirety, too.
It would be worth it for the title alone: Kissing and Dancing. Evocative, isn't it?
Friday, August 6, 2010
On Killing the Momentum
The rain threw a wet blanket on tonight's art walk in the same way my grandmother walking into our living room where my first boyfriend and I were passionately making out years ago did. Nothing was quite the same after either event.
Before the skies opened up, I made it to Ghostprint Gallery for what I already knew was going to the the highlight of the evening. Wretched Glory: Richmond's Show Poster and Flier Art would have been an outstanding show even if I were not a show poster collector. Given that I am, it was a little bit of heaven and I took my sweet time checking out the many posters and fliers on the walls.
Of course it was a kick to see posters for long-gone venues and bands, but even more titillating were the fliers for shows I only wish I'd gone to. Death Cab for Cutie at UR in 2001? Seriously UR? Shepard Fairey at Alley Katz in 2002? What the...? Dashboard Confessional at Twisters in 2001? Judge me if you want, but I'd have gone to all three had I known about them.
In some cases, it was what information was included on the poster that caught my eye. A Fugazi show at Metro promised three things: One show only! All ages! Over by 12! I'm not sure who'd made these rules, Metro or Fugazi, but they sounded serious about them. And since when is Fugazi done by midnight?
I loved the poster for the Hole show at Twisters. FREE! FREE! FREE! it screamed at the top. In case that wasn't enough incentive, it also said, "If you like L7 and Lunachicks, do NOT miss this band!" The fact that Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth had produced their album was also mentioned, just in case name recognition mattered to the flier reader. I bet that Hole kicked ass and took numbers at Twisters that night.
The exhibit also had newer posters and I saw some from shows I've seen in the past few years at Toad's Place as well as the National. There was also a good representation of experimental noise show posters, several of which I'd been to. I didn't remember the performance that specified that you had to bring your own headphones and Walkman in order to hear the show, but it sounded like a unique experience.
By the time I finished drooling over all those posters and went to leave, the deluge had begun. I hovered on the stoop for the duration, which was the ideal location for me; I was able to meet and greet those arriving at the gallery or walking down the street in the rain. I even ended up giving directions to a lost soul looking for the National and headed in the wrong direction. Boy was he grateful. I noticed that a lot of people gave up and decided to leave at this point.
When it was safe to walk without my dress disappearing (ah, the double-edged sword of silk: cool but transparent when wet) , I headed straight to the courtyard for music. A friend was making her bass-playing debut in Moorish Temple, a 70s stoner band-influenced trio. She told me beforehand that she was so nervous that she'd been throwing up, but she acquitted herself beautifully and looked fabulous doing it. What more is there?
I'd have stayed for more music, but it was incredibly humid in the courtyard with those high walls and no air flow, so I left the two WRIR Pauls and wandered down to Art 6 for the photography show and on the way back to the satellite gallery for the Gay Community Center's show. Both were packed with wet-shirted attendees and umbrella-carriers.
Of course, it wouldn't be a First Friday if I didn't acknowledge my hard-working bartender friends. Ron at Bistro 27 stuck out his tongue at me, probably because I was outside the madness that he couldn't escape inside. Even so, I know he didn't mean it because just yesterday we were bonding over our shared choice to live a/c-free, albeit extremely sweaty bonding.
Over at Tarrant's, Danny was too busy to notice me smiling through the door, but luckily Alexa did and shouted loud enough for me to hear through the glass, "There's Karen!" which finally got his attention. Like Ron, he was in madness mode dealing with all the rain-dodging artwalkers who'd traded gallery hopping for sedentary drinking. But he smiled and waved.
I knew it would be sticky hot and humid in Gallery 5, so I sat outside when I saw some friends and took in the music from there. I ran into an acquaintance whom I discovered reads my blog and not only reads it, but kept up with it while he was on vacation. I would have never imagined that my blog posts were vacation-worthy reading material and he assured me they were. Let's just say I was wildly flattered.
It would take a lot to throw a wet blanket on that feeling.
Before the skies opened up, I made it to Ghostprint Gallery for what I already knew was going to the the highlight of the evening. Wretched Glory: Richmond's Show Poster and Flier Art would have been an outstanding show even if I were not a show poster collector. Given that I am, it was a little bit of heaven and I took my sweet time checking out the many posters and fliers on the walls.
Of course it was a kick to see posters for long-gone venues and bands, but even more titillating were the fliers for shows I only wish I'd gone to. Death Cab for Cutie at UR in 2001? Seriously UR? Shepard Fairey at Alley Katz in 2002? What the...? Dashboard Confessional at Twisters in 2001? Judge me if you want, but I'd have gone to all three had I known about them.
In some cases, it was what information was included on the poster that caught my eye. A Fugazi show at Metro promised three things: One show only! All ages! Over by 12! I'm not sure who'd made these rules, Metro or Fugazi, but they sounded serious about them. And since when is Fugazi done by midnight?
I loved the poster for the Hole show at Twisters. FREE! FREE! FREE! it screamed at the top. In case that wasn't enough incentive, it also said, "If you like L7 and Lunachicks, do NOT miss this band!" The fact that Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth had produced their album was also mentioned, just in case name recognition mattered to the flier reader. I bet that Hole kicked ass and took numbers at Twisters that night.
The exhibit also had newer posters and I saw some from shows I've seen in the past few years at Toad's Place as well as the National. There was also a good representation of experimental noise show posters, several of which I'd been to. I didn't remember the performance that specified that you had to bring your own headphones and Walkman in order to hear the show, but it sounded like a unique experience.
By the time I finished drooling over all those posters and went to leave, the deluge had begun. I hovered on the stoop for the duration, which was the ideal location for me; I was able to meet and greet those arriving at the gallery or walking down the street in the rain. I even ended up giving directions to a lost soul looking for the National and headed in the wrong direction. Boy was he grateful. I noticed that a lot of people gave up and decided to leave at this point.
When it was safe to walk without my dress disappearing (ah, the double-edged sword of silk: cool but transparent when wet) , I headed straight to the courtyard for music. A friend was making her bass-playing debut in Moorish Temple, a 70s stoner band-influenced trio. She told me beforehand that she was so nervous that she'd been throwing up, but she acquitted herself beautifully and looked fabulous doing it. What more is there?
I'd have stayed for more music, but it was incredibly humid in the courtyard with those high walls and no air flow, so I left the two WRIR Pauls and wandered down to Art 6 for the photography show and on the way back to the satellite gallery for the Gay Community Center's show. Both were packed with wet-shirted attendees and umbrella-carriers.
Of course, it wouldn't be a First Friday if I didn't acknowledge my hard-working bartender friends. Ron at Bistro 27 stuck out his tongue at me, probably because I was outside the madness that he couldn't escape inside. Even so, I know he didn't mean it because just yesterday we were bonding over our shared choice to live a/c-free, albeit extremely sweaty bonding.
Over at Tarrant's, Danny was too busy to notice me smiling through the door, but luckily Alexa did and shouted loud enough for me to hear through the glass, "There's Karen!" which finally got his attention. Like Ron, he was in madness mode dealing with all the rain-dodging artwalkers who'd traded gallery hopping for sedentary drinking. But he smiled and waved.
I knew it would be sticky hot and humid in Gallery 5, so I sat outside when I saw some friends and took in the music from there. I ran into an acquaintance whom I discovered reads my blog and not only reads it, but kept up with it while he was on vacation. I would have never imagined that my blog posts were vacation-worthy reading material and he assured me they were. Let's just say I was wildly flattered.
It would take a lot to throw a wet blanket on that feeling.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Breaking Drumsticks and Rules at First Fridays
I broke the first rule of First Fridays.
I ate in J-Ward tonight.
I'm smart enough to know better but the Belvidere at Broad's Facebook page had boasted that they had a special of ahi tuna tacos and I wanted ahi tuna tacos.
Tonight.
So I showed up a mere fifteen minutes after they opened their doors and got one of the few remaining bar stools (although not my usual one).
When I left two hours later to walk Broad Street, there wasn't a seat available anywhere in the place.
The tacos were worth breaking my own rule.
The tuna was medium rare, the avocado pico de gallo incredibly ripe and flavorful and the sriracha aioli bound it all together beautifully.
With their Asian cole slaw on the side, those three make-your-own tacos were a heavenly meal. I practically inhaled them and then had the nerve to lick my fingers.
Tonight was also the kick-off for the new show at the Belvidere by Redd Staples and the artist came in and took a seat at the bar shortly after I did.
He proceeded to order a beer and dinner at his end of the bar while I was eating and drinking at the other.
Artist/art lover, it seemed a shame not to talk, so I took it upon myself to move up to his end of the bar and introduce myself.
It turned into a great conversation about Richmond and art and historic preservation.
I discovered that it took him over four months of painting full time work to complete the works in the show and that he prefers oils for their luminosity.
One of the paintings is of the old Murphy Hotel, others are of old houses, farm fields and other Virginia landscapes.
He said his goal was to remind viewers of the wealth of natural and historic beauty we have in such abundance in rva.
Being the geek and booster that I am, we found plenty to talk about, from the scourge that is Short Pump to those who fear the city after dark.
"You get it!" he said. "We need more people like you around here."
I think I've heard that before but a compliment is a compliment and I take them wherever they're offered.
Eventually I realized that I needed to get out and get moving if I was going to see everything and hear what I wanted to hear.
The International Holocaust Remembrance exhibit at Art 6 was poignant and moving and a must-see. Both the art and the photographs were tragic reminders of the ultimate inhumanity.
"Repressed V: Free to Speak" at Gallery 5 was statement-based art on subjects as diverse as the economy, whaling and global warming. As a major fan of graphic design, I found myself wishing I could afford one of the pieces. But alas, I could only admire.
I knew I wanted to make it to the courtyard to hear White Laces play their EP release show and apparently I wasn't the only one. I'd grabbed a buddy off the street and invited him to join me for it; it was his first time at the Courtyard and and the weather was ideal.
Any time you go, it's a very cool space with its beach house-like wooden stairs and balconies, the large tree and bush and that giant mural painted on the side of the building, but during the summer it can be a bit of a brick oven effect.
Tonight was cool and breezy in there, a real treat.
The same reasons that make the space uncomfortably hot in summer made it sonically challenging tonight.
The mix was muddy and the vocal all but lost as White Laces' decibel level rose.
It was a shame not to be able to hear the vocal or lyrics, but the overall experience was still enjoyable.
The drummer got so into it that he snapped a drumstick on the next-to-last song, causing lead singer Landis Wine to implore the audience, "Anyone got a spare drumstick?"
No one did unfortunately.
It may have been the absolutely perfect weather or the end of the semester euphoria or just good vibrations, but it seemed like an unusually pleasant crowd tonight.
People kept smiling at me and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.
For all I know, they had started their evenings by breaking some first rule of their own.
I won't lie, it worked for me.
I ate in J-Ward tonight.
I'm smart enough to know better but the Belvidere at Broad's Facebook page had boasted that they had a special of ahi tuna tacos and I wanted ahi tuna tacos.
Tonight.
So I showed up a mere fifteen minutes after they opened their doors and got one of the few remaining bar stools (although not my usual one).
When I left two hours later to walk Broad Street, there wasn't a seat available anywhere in the place.
The tacos were worth breaking my own rule.
The tuna was medium rare, the avocado pico de gallo incredibly ripe and flavorful and the sriracha aioli bound it all together beautifully.
With their Asian cole slaw on the side, those three make-your-own tacos were a heavenly meal. I practically inhaled them and then had the nerve to lick my fingers.
Tonight was also the kick-off for the new show at the Belvidere by Redd Staples and the artist came in and took a seat at the bar shortly after I did.
He proceeded to order a beer and dinner at his end of the bar while I was eating and drinking at the other.
Artist/art lover, it seemed a shame not to talk, so I took it upon myself to move up to his end of the bar and introduce myself.
It turned into a great conversation about Richmond and art and historic preservation.
I discovered that it took him over four months of painting full time work to complete the works in the show and that he prefers oils for their luminosity.
One of the paintings is of the old Murphy Hotel, others are of old houses, farm fields and other Virginia landscapes.
He said his goal was to remind viewers of the wealth of natural and historic beauty we have in such abundance in rva.
Being the geek and booster that I am, we found plenty to talk about, from the scourge that is Short Pump to those who fear the city after dark.
"You get it!" he said. "We need more people like you around here."
I think I've heard that before but a compliment is a compliment and I take them wherever they're offered.
Eventually I realized that I needed to get out and get moving if I was going to see everything and hear what I wanted to hear.
The International Holocaust Remembrance exhibit at Art 6 was poignant and moving and a must-see. Both the art and the photographs were tragic reminders of the ultimate inhumanity.
"Repressed V: Free to Speak" at Gallery 5 was statement-based art on subjects as diverse as the economy, whaling and global warming. As a major fan of graphic design, I found myself wishing I could afford one of the pieces. But alas, I could only admire.
I knew I wanted to make it to the courtyard to hear White Laces play their EP release show and apparently I wasn't the only one. I'd grabbed a buddy off the street and invited him to join me for it; it was his first time at the Courtyard and and the weather was ideal.
Any time you go, it's a very cool space with its beach house-like wooden stairs and balconies, the large tree and bush and that giant mural painted on the side of the building, but during the summer it can be a bit of a brick oven effect.
Tonight was cool and breezy in there, a real treat.
The same reasons that make the space uncomfortably hot in summer made it sonically challenging tonight.
The mix was muddy and the vocal all but lost as White Laces' decibel level rose.
It was a shame not to be able to hear the vocal or lyrics, but the overall experience was still enjoyable.
The drummer got so into it that he snapped a drumstick on the next-to-last song, causing lead singer Landis Wine to implore the audience, "Anyone got a spare drumstick?"
No one did unfortunately.
It may have been the absolutely perfect weather or the end of the semester euphoria or just good vibrations, but it seemed like an unusually pleasant crowd tonight.
People kept smiling at me and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time.
For all I know, they had started their evenings by breaking some first rule of their own.
I won't lie, it worked for me.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Stellar Saturday Stroll in Jackson Ward
Hard as it is for me to accept, I know that there are people who only come to Jackson Ward for First Fridays.
Of course, it's their loss; they're missing out on experiencing an area of the city that has much more to offer than just one night's activities.
And while that's only my opinion, apparently it's also the motivation behind the newest reason to get you here, the Saturday Stroll.
Put aside your concerns because you'll be coming to J-Ward in broad daylight, but you're not going to be disappointed.
These strolls will take place on the third Saturdays of the month and feature all kinds of ways to shop RVA.
And don't we all want to support the local economy?
Businesses are open, artists and craft vendors are located all along the streets and in front of galleries and the restaurants and food carts are ready to feed you; here's your chance to try out the Belvidere @ Broad for lunch, a meal they don't normally serve!
Over at Gallery 5, Amanda's amazing cupcakes are for sale.
Of course there's music; do you have any idea how many musicians live here?
Josh Small was playing today, the hula hoopers were out shimmying and you could have a caricature done.
Galleries had doors flung wide open, inviting you to come in; there was even an artist's talk over at the Black History Museum.
There were artists creating graffiti projects on boards near Quirk Gallery. Bizhan from Gallery 5 was one of the artists spray-painting away and I teased him about going back to his roots; he was a fairly active street artists years ago.
He laughed and acknowledged that he was out of practice and his index finger was already sore.
The other issue was the limitations of the size of the board.
With street art, one tends to have a much bigger "canvas" to work on.
Next month, he's planning to add some wheat pasting to the painting he'll do.
And let me point out that it's really pretty cool to be able to watch street art being created since most of it is done late at night and away from the view of the public.
I only wish Richmond would designate some of its old and derelict buildings for graffiti artists to better visually.
Imagine what a win/win situation it would be to artistically improve the ugly facades and give artists an outlet for their large scale work.
Maybe someday RVA will see the benefit to the city in such an endeavor.
I saw lots of people I knew, neighbors and locals, but there were plenty of visitors, too, out enjoying a beautiful day in Jackson Ward.
Anything that gets people down here to see what we have to offer is a very good thing in my book.
And I know we have some convincing to do; not everyone is as sold on the 'hood as me.
One woman with a stroller suggested to her posse (another family with a stroller), "Let's go eat at Lift. They actually have good sandwiches."
No shit, Sherlock.
We actually have a lot of very good things down here and now there's an easy way for you to check them out.
Just save the third Saturday of the month and we'll knock your socks off, J-Ward style.
Of course, it's their loss; they're missing out on experiencing an area of the city that has much more to offer than just one night's activities.
And while that's only my opinion, apparently it's also the motivation behind the newest reason to get you here, the Saturday Stroll.
Put aside your concerns because you'll be coming to J-Ward in broad daylight, but you're not going to be disappointed.
These strolls will take place on the third Saturdays of the month and feature all kinds of ways to shop RVA.
And don't we all want to support the local economy?
Businesses are open, artists and craft vendors are located all along the streets and in front of galleries and the restaurants and food carts are ready to feed you; here's your chance to try out the Belvidere @ Broad for lunch, a meal they don't normally serve!
Over at Gallery 5, Amanda's amazing cupcakes are for sale.
Of course there's music; do you have any idea how many musicians live here?
Josh Small was playing today, the hula hoopers were out shimmying and you could have a caricature done.
Galleries had doors flung wide open, inviting you to come in; there was even an artist's talk over at the Black History Museum.
There were artists creating graffiti projects on boards near Quirk Gallery. Bizhan from Gallery 5 was one of the artists spray-painting away and I teased him about going back to his roots; he was a fairly active street artists years ago.
He laughed and acknowledged that he was out of practice and his index finger was already sore.
The other issue was the limitations of the size of the board.
With street art, one tends to have a much bigger "canvas" to work on.
Next month, he's planning to add some wheat pasting to the painting he'll do.
And let me point out that it's really pretty cool to be able to watch street art being created since most of it is done late at night and away from the view of the public.
I only wish Richmond would designate some of its old and derelict buildings for graffiti artists to better visually.
Imagine what a win/win situation it would be to artistically improve the ugly facades and give artists an outlet for their large scale work.
Maybe someday RVA will see the benefit to the city in such an endeavor.
I saw lots of people I knew, neighbors and locals, but there were plenty of visitors, too, out enjoying a beautiful day in Jackson Ward.
Anything that gets people down here to see what we have to offer is a very good thing in my book.
And I know we have some convincing to do; not everyone is as sold on the 'hood as me.
One woman with a stroller suggested to her posse (another family with a stroller), "Let's go eat at Lift. They actually have good sandwiches."
No shit, Sherlock.
We actually have a lot of very good things down here and now there's an easy way for you to check them out.
Just save the third Saturday of the month and we'll knock your socks off, J-Ward style.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Deflowering a First Friday Virgin
It's not that difficult to do the First Friday art walk, right?
You walk, you go in places that look appealing, you look at art and hear music.
I've done it dozens of times, so I was more than a little surprised to be asked to be the guide for my friend (he'd only been once) and his date (she'd never been) at tonight's art walk.
Lead you around by the nose?
Why, sure, I can do that.
With ADA closed, we began at Ghostprint Gallery with Tom McCormack's acid etchings on steel.
They were striking: frameless, for the most past stark and industrial looking with holes to nail them onto the walls.
But they were also evocative and compelling.
Several had already sold, including my favorite, "Clear Skies Over West Bank Street," a view of the narrow street with houses on either side.
Gull was playing outside Lift, so we had to pause so my tour guests could experience the one-man phenomenon that is Gull.
I don't usually stop at Visual Arts Studio, but it was impossible not to tonight.
Greg Lewis' sculpture "Pamlico," made out of 87,000 toothpicks (stay with me here) was in the front window.
Lewis had shaped thousands of toothpicks into the figure of a mermaid kneeling.
She was about 5'8" from her knees to the crown on her curly head of hair (made of broken toothpicks; frickin' unbelievable).
The artist told me it took a year and a half to complete this piece; the selling price is $72,000.
Do yourself a favor and walk by the gallery to admire the work in the window.
At Turnstyle there was actually art in progress.
Mural artist Michael Owen was in the process of painting a piece commissioned by the store.
It was an image of a guy holding a record sleeve amongst shelves of records, and he was even painting as we spoke.
An exhibit of his paintings was also on display, all images of musicians.
Naturally I was curious about why he'd painted certain ones and he said that those were the people he listened to while painting, people like Lenny Kravitz, The Edge and Tracey Thorne
The latter surprised me, but I gave him a lot of credit for it; she does have an amazing voice.
It was my first time at the Eric Schindler Annex on Broad Street after which we made a stop at Art 6.
There we found a photography show by Lloyd Chaser; the black and white photographs in it were of Richmond in the snow and contained some stunning images given the subject and the weather.
Other pieces were shot out west and in Alaska and were in color, but it was the local shots that drew the most onlookers.
As a bonus, the three degrees of separation between me and one of my favorite blog readers was eliminated tonight when I was finally introduced to her.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to talk long and I would have loved to, but at least now I can recognize her when we attend the same functions, which we seem to frequently do.
Ahh, the thrill of the online world colliding with the real!
When we got to 1708 Gallery, I explained the significance of the lit squares in the sidewalk; oh, I was just full of good guide tidbits of information and they ate it up.
But shortly thereafter, they were getting hungry and it was nearing 10:00, so we decided to get out of Dodge (all the restaurants were mobbed) and head over to Carytown and hopefully away from the madding crowds.
We went to NY Deli for some good grub and loud dance music.
It was interesting though; I can't say I'd ever heard a dance remix of the Doors' "Riders on the Storm" and now I can say I have.
By the time I took my fifth-wheel self and prepared to leave the daters at NYD, they were gushing about the evening.
The woman especially couldn't have been more impressed.
"I can't believe how fast that time went! That was so amazing! Thank you!"
Yea, well, anytime you need help walking, looking and listening and can't figure it out on your own, I'm your girl.
But I'm willing to bet that if you just got out there and gave it a try, you'd see how simple it really is.
But I'll keep my guide certification up to date...just in case.
You walk, you go in places that look appealing, you look at art and hear music.
I've done it dozens of times, so I was more than a little surprised to be asked to be the guide for my friend (he'd only been once) and his date (she'd never been) at tonight's art walk.
Lead you around by the nose?
Why, sure, I can do that.
With ADA closed, we began at Ghostprint Gallery with Tom McCormack's acid etchings on steel.
They were striking: frameless, for the most past stark and industrial looking with holes to nail them onto the walls.
But they were also evocative and compelling.
Several had already sold, including my favorite, "Clear Skies Over West Bank Street," a view of the narrow street with houses on either side.
Gull was playing outside Lift, so we had to pause so my tour guests could experience the one-man phenomenon that is Gull.
I don't usually stop at Visual Arts Studio, but it was impossible not to tonight.
Greg Lewis' sculpture "Pamlico," made out of 87,000 toothpicks (stay with me here) was in the front window.
Lewis had shaped thousands of toothpicks into the figure of a mermaid kneeling.
She was about 5'8" from her knees to the crown on her curly head of hair (made of broken toothpicks; frickin' unbelievable).
The artist told me it took a year and a half to complete this piece; the selling price is $72,000.
Do yourself a favor and walk by the gallery to admire the work in the window.
At Turnstyle there was actually art in progress.
Mural artist Michael Owen was in the process of painting a piece commissioned by the store.
It was an image of a guy holding a record sleeve amongst shelves of records, and he was even painting as we spoke.
An exhibit of his paintings was also on display, all images of musicians.
Naturally I was curious about why he'd painted certain ones and he said that those were the people he listened to while painting, people like Lenny Kravitz, The Edge and Tracey Thorne
The latter surprised me, but I gave him a lot of credit for it; she does have an amazing voice.
It was my first time at the Eric Schindler Annex on Broad Street after which we made a stop at Art 6.
There we found a photography show by Lloyd Chaser; the black and white photographs in it were of Richmond in the snow and contained some stunning images given the subject and the weather.
Other pieces were shot out west and in Alaska and were in color, but it was the local shots that drew the most onlookers.
As a bonus, the three degrees of separation between me and one of my favorite blog readers was eliminated tonight when I was finally introduced to her.
Unfortunately, we didn't get to talk long and I would have loved to, but at least now I can recognize her when we attend the same functions, which we seem to frequently do.
Ahh, the thrill of the online world colliding with the real!
When we got to 1708 Gallery, I explained the significance of the lit squares in the sidewalk; oh, I was just full of good guide tidbits of information and they ate it up.
But shortly thereafter, they were getting hungry and it was nearing 10:00, so we decided to get out of Dodge (all the restaurants were mobbed) and head over to Carytown and hopefully away from the madding crowds.
We went to NY Deli for some good grub and loud dance music.
It was interesting though; I can't say I'd ever heard a dance remix of the Doors' "Riders on the Storm" and now I can say I have.
By the time I took my fifth-wheel self and prepared to leave the daters at NYD, they were gushing about the evening.
The woman especially couldn't have been more impressed.
"I can't believe how fast that time went! That was so amazing! Thank you!"
Yea, well, anytime you need help walking, looking and listening and can't figure it out on your own, I'm your girl.
But I'm willing to bet that if you just got out there and gave it a try, you'd see how simple it really is.
But I'll keep my guide certification up to date...just in case.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
