If I lose a button off my dress during the course of the evening, is it cause for pride or embarrassment?
My first stop was Sabai, where I ran into friends - a musical married couple - eating dinner and wound up having a lengthy discussion of documentaries once we discovered we're all documentary dorks. Happily for me, they have a secret club where they show docs to other dorks so now I can join my people on a regular basis for non-fiction film.
Score.
Stop #2 was Glave Kocen Gallery for the opening of Alex Nyerges' first solo photography show, "Chasing the Light," which was abuzz with rich-looking people (a good thing since sales of the photographs were benefiting VMFA) when I arrived in my thrift store dress and shoes.
Servers were passing hors d'oeuvres from Heritage across the street, including spoonfuls of beets and burrata that went down like silk.
The first person I recognized was a blue-clad gallerist, followed by a painter who's recently become a first-time father. When I asked about the little one, he said they were in the back, away from the fray, but he also had made a point to bring the baby to start exposing her to art. I like that kind of thinking.
Further on, I saw a favorite printmaker who excitedly told me about the new Studio 23 printmaking collective space in Scott's Addition where she has a studio of her own. When the gallerist joined us, she started to introduce us, only to hear that we already knew each other.
"Of course, Karen knows everyone," she joked. Not true, but good for a laugh.
I already knew plenty about the show because I'd written a piece for Style Weekly about it after a long and enjoyable conversation with the photographer a few weeks ago. We'd hit it off because he's a runner and although my pace as a walker is slower, we bonded over the advantages of seeing the world from your feet rather than a car.
Unlike me, he carries a camera with him when he runs, meaning he's able to capture early morning moments that few are around to see. Add in that his job as director of the VMFA takes him all over the world and it's a recipe for compelling photographs.
Walking around the room to view the prints and read the artist's statements took me to Key West, China, Baltimore, San Francisco and France, among others, with the only common thread being each black and white photograph's heightened sense of contrast. Darks were the blackest black while lights were luminescent, almost heavenly in places.
The man has such a great eye, all the more so for shooting in color and then printing in black and white. The show had exactly one full color image - taken just before a close friend died - and one with the tiniest hint of color taken through a shower window.
It was fascinating to me to overhear people reacting to photographs of the James River, mainly because they were completely unfamiliar with the views of the bridges and train trestles every walker and runner in this city knows so well. "That's in Richmond?" was a frequent refrain. Sure is.
Several photographs already had the telltale red dots next to them denoting "sold" status and I saw a couple trying to narrow their choice to just one. With no such ability to buy, I just admired.
After much deliberation, I think my favorite was a view from San Francisco taken from the middle of a hilly street on which "STOP" had been painted. The image pulled your eye in until it was following the street up and down hills, past buildings to the horizon. My mind and stomach sensed the up and down motion of the terrain just standing in front of the picture.
It passed the "could I look at it every day?" test with flying colors.
When I felt a tap on my shoulder, I turned to see a smiling man with his hand outstretched. In it was one of the shiny gold buttons that marched, double-breasted, down my navy blue dress.
"I saw this on the floor and I'd seen you in your dress earlier, so I thought it might be yours," he explained. It was a good guess, although embossed gold buttons are a bit of a giveaway.
How had I lost it, hugging someone maybe? Or had I caught it on one of the pedestals when I leaned over trying to view a photograph while people stood blathering with their backs to it? Maybe it was just one of those chance things whereby life has you meet someone you might not otherwise.
Because, contrary to popular opinion, I don't yet know everybody. Never underestimate the power of a dress...especially one that leaves a button trail.
Showing posts with label glave kocen gallery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label glave kocen gallery. Show all posts
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Morning Carnival
Of course I'd be attracted to art that begins with the pages of books.
I knew about Benjamin Frey's new show, “Modern Myths and Metaphors,” at Glave Kocen Gallery because I'd interviewed the artist for a piece in Style Weekly, but we hadn't met in the flesh yet.
Today's artist's talk afforded me the opportunity to see the show and meet him, despite its unfortunate timing: 11:30 on a Saturday morning.
The sacrifices I make for art.
Strolling through the gallery, I was falling hard for Benjamin's work, charmed by the book page backgrounds and moody drawings on top of them. My only disappointment was that I'm too poor to be buying art, much as I'd love to own one of his pieces.
No one ever matches their voice, including Benjamin, but he sounded like every bit the artist from an artistic family that he is ("Dad always had a painting on the easel") once we got to talking.
I asked if I'd gotten everything right in my article and he said that while I'd said he was from Staunton (because the press release said that), he was actually from Buena Vista, a point his Buena Vista friends noted but as he laughed, "No one on this side of the mountains would know the difference."
True that. During the talk when gallerist B.J. Kocen introduced him as from Staunton, Benjamin winked at me in the audience and we both thought, "No, from Buena Vista."
Rather than a talk, the main event was more of a conversation between B.J. and Benjamin, who recalled coming to Richmond for an oil change and cruising the local gallery scene for possible places to show.
The last place he'd stopped was Glave Kocen and less than a year later, here he was having a show and one with red dots on many of the works after a very successful opening.
He talked about working as a bookbinder in college and again at a prestigious bookbinder in NYC, where he refused to throw away the end papers from books being repaired, instead saving them for art projects
Using pages from pre-1910 books, often from antique encyclopedias and schoolbooks because he finds the typefaces interesting, he collages layers of them onto the canvas to build up texture before using lithographer's crayons and watercolor pencils to create large-scale drawings on top.
The drawings are intricate and dynamic, conjuring up a mostly monochromatic world of Ferris wheels, elephants balanced on balls, carousels, acrobats and early attempts at flight. A separate series focused on sepia-toned buildings and trains.
What I hadn't been able to see in all the online images of his work was how each one had, in addition to the random collaged pages, a specific page or two chosen to complement the subject matter.
So an image of an elephant might have a map of Africa or a drawing of the Flatiron building had a treatise on mortar. It was a striking part of the composition in person and one I'd missed by seeing his work digitally while we chatted on the phone.
But then, art isn't meant to be seen on a computer screen.Art this striking is meant to be admired in a gallery and when I'm lucky, it's a gorgeous day like today and the gallery door is wide open with the smell of warm, Spring air wafting in.
Definitely worth being up early for.
I knew about Benjamin Frey's new show, “Modern Myths and Metaphors,” at Glave Kocen Gallery because I'd interviewed the artist for a piece in Style Weekly, but we hadn't met in the flesh yet.
Today's artist's talk afforded me the opportunity to see the show and meet him, despite its unfortunate timing: 11:30 on a Saturday morning.
The sacrifices I make for art.
Strolling through the gallery, I was falling hard for Benjamin's work, charmed by the book page backgrounds and moody drawings on top of them. My only disappointment was that I'm too poor to be buying art, much as I'd love to own one of his pieces.
No one ever matches their voice, including Benjamin, but he sounded like every bit the artist from an artistic family that he is ("Dad always had a painting on the easel") once we got to talking.
I asked if I'd gotten everything right in my article and he said that while I'd said he was from Staunton (because the press release said that), he was actually from Buena Vista, a point his Buena Vista friends noted but as he laughed, "No one on this side of the mountains would know the difference."
True that. During the talk when gallerist B.J. Kocen introduced him as from Staunton, Benjamin winked at me in the audience and we both thought, "No, from Buena Vista."
Rather than a talk, the main event was more of a conversation between B.J. and Benjamin, who recalled coming to Richmond for an oil change and cruising the local gallery scene for possible places to show.
The last place he'd stopped was Glave Kocen and less than a year later, here he was having a show and one with red dots on many of the works after a very successful opening.
He talked about working as a bookbinder in college and again at a prestigious bookbinder in NYC, where he refused to throw away the end papers from books being repaired, instead saving them for art projects
Using pages from pre-1910 books, often from antique encyclopedias and schoolbooks because he finds the typefaces interesting, he collages layers of them onto the canvas to build up texture before using lithographer's crayons and watercolor pencils to create large-scale drawings on top.
The drawings are intricate and dynamic, conjuring up a mostly monochromatic world of Ferris wheels, elephants balanced on balls, carousels, acrobats and early attempts at flight. A separate series focused on sepia-toned buildings and trains.
What I hadn't been able to see in all the online images of his work was how each one had, in addition to the random collaged pages, a specific page or two chosen to complement the subject matter.
So an image of an elephant might have a map of Africa or a drawing of the Flatiron building had a treatise on mortar. It was a striking part of the composition in person and one I'd missed by seeing his work digitally while we chatted on the phone.
But then, art isn't meant to be seen on a computer screen.Art this striking is meant to be admired in a gallery and when I'm lucky, it's a gorgeous day like today and the gallery door is wide open with the smell of warm, Spring air wafting in.
Definitely worth being up early for.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Perfect Amount of Art and Awkward
Just another Friday night that starts with a makeshift disco and ends with strippers.
A photographer friend and I were walking to dinner when he spied some interesting tile work on a building and paused to take a picture.
Next thing we know, the owner of the building, a charming Mexican, comes out and invites us in for a tour of the building he is renovating for his construction company.
I'm sure my mother would disapprove of going into a stranger's building with him, but I figure my sturdy male friend is my insurance against bodily harm.
Inside, the owner tells us that the building was a laundry for 75 years, showing off massive sliding metal doors, huge exhaust fans and an abundance of windows to let out the hot, steamy air.
Everywhere but the front of the building is still a work in progress, with part of the floor torn up in one place and a walkway over the hole.
When we get almost to the back, though, we find an intact floor, finished walls and where, wait for it, he says nonchalantly, "Here is my discotheque," while hitting a switch which starts the mirror ball turning and myriad strobe lights flashing along the roof line.
He says this is where they dance when he holds employee parties. It was about the last thing on earth I'd expected when we'd walked in the building.
That said, if he'd put on some music, I might have tried it out and I bet my friend would have, too.
Neither of us could get over the unexpected invitation followed by a peek inside a building we would otherwise never have seen.
While we were eating dinner afterwards, we caught up with each other's lives, the best part being when I asked how his relationship is going. I'd guessed that since he never has time to get together, it must be going quite well.
He affirmed how happy he was, saying, "She's smart, she likes to talk, she's good company and she used to be a cheerleader so she's flexible."
A man couldn't really ask for much more than that, could he?
The icing on the cake was when he surprised me by saying, "Since I won't be seeing you on Valentine's day, I have a present for you," pulling out a large pink eraser shaped like a diamond ring. "Anyone who doesn't put a ring on it is a dumbass."
Clearly he didn't want to be among that group. It was my first pink eraser diamond ring and although I'm not a jewelry person, I wore it all night.
Our next stop was Glave Kocen gallery to See "Click III," a biannual invitational photography show with the theme "From Mountains to Sea."
We both recognized several of the photographers' names while taking in a fascinating array of photography styles from photo montage to pinhole Polaroids to photo-journalism to abstractions. Our post-gallery discussion involved how the best digital photographs look like they were shot on 35 mm.
We parted ways in the arts district since I had First Fridays artwalking to do and he had other plans.
My first stop was at Black Iris gallery to see "Public Eye: Civil Rights Case Study," a series of photographs and videos shot for surveillance purposes during the '60s and '70s in Richmond.
The mug shots looked like Joe Average people, a comment I made to a woman who responded, "Yea, there's one of my sister."
I'm willing to bet if you're of an age and were in Richmond during the days of protests and demonstrations, you might recognize some young person's mug in the exhibit, too.
Projected on the back wall was a series of film clips, like a 1970 busing protest on Belvidere, a memorial for Martin Luther King at the state capital in 1968 (with women in white gloves and hats), a KKK parade and a Black Panther meeting on Laurel Street.
Of course Laurel Street. Where else but Oregon Hill would you expect to find Black Panthers and anarchists?
A black and white no-frills look at a period in RVA's history I missed, presented without political agenda or bias. As in, just the facts, ma'am. Definitely worth checking out.
From there, it was just a short walk to the Renaissance for WRIR's annual "party for the rest of us" to celebrate their ninth birthday.
I made a point to get there early enough to see River City Taiko, a group that plays traditional Japanese drums, which I have to assume means one person on either side of the drum playing different rhythms because that's what these people were doing, sometimes two at a time and sometimes the entire group at once.
The Colloquial Orchestra was next and while I've seen them many times, that's meaningless because the orchestra is defined as Dave Watkins on dulcitar and anyone else he asks to play with him, so never the same.
It can be a three piece, a six-piece or, like tonight, a 14-piece: two drummers, six guitarists (one acoustic), bass, trumpet, keyboard, violin,and a late-arriving sax player.
Improvising for a half hour, they wove elaborate soundscapes around the bass and drum center, creating what one first-timer described to me as sounding like "bagpipes on acid."
Changing rooms to catch some storytelling courtesy of Secretly Y'All, I heard the inimitable Herschel tell a tale of falling hard for a girl after hearing her laugh because, "it was the best laugh I ever heard."
Now there's a hell of a compliment.
He accompanied himself on ukulele when he sang a song partially based on their interaction.
Justin's story was about moving from Powhatan and an outdoor-centered life to Church Hill and having to push himself "to get off my ass and go outside," and his song was called "Silver and Diamonds."
Patrick's story was about a girl joining his group traveling Europe and after spending 24 hours with her, knowing he was deeply in love. Two months here went great but six weeks in Berlin made it painfully obvious she'd lost interest. His heartbreaking tribute was called "Waltz to Noel."
No one had mentioned that tonight's theme would be "guys with sad stories."
Milling about between bands, I ran into the DJ who works at WPA and had made all the lovely birthday cakes for tonight's party. I had him give me a rundown on what kind of cake was inside each since they all looked different.
Chocolate coconut and caramel chocolate seemed to hold the most promise for me. I took a swipe of icing just to be sure, alarming a DJ.
That's an annual tradition for me at this party, my friend. Just ask Andrew.
The one band I wanted to make sure I caught tonight was Hypercolor and walking into the ballroom as their set began, I knew in an instant that they were right up my alley.
A ruby-throated female lead singer playing guitar ("She's not your typical lead, she's even doing some finger-picking," the guy behind me whispered to me), two other lush-sounding guitars including one of the guys from Avers whom I'd just seen and the bassist from Fear of Music (also just seen last weekend) who together with the drummer kept everyone from wandering off into psychedelic bliss.
I kept moving closer and closer to the front to watch and listen to the impressive execution and well-written songs. I'll need to see them again soon.
The Silent Music Revival was presenting the avant-garde 1947 film "The Cage" with improvised soundtrack by Snack Truck and their thunderous rock was a fine match for the falling eyeballs, nude women running, leek stealers and other assorted oddities of the silent movie.
I could tell that a lot of people watching had never seen a SMR presentation before as they focused solely on the band and ignored the movie.
Guys, guys, guys.
Back in the main ballroom, the Ar-Kaics had morphed from a trio to a quartet since I'd last seen them at Steady Sounds but hard and fast ear-splitting garage rock was still their metier.
For something completely different, I crossed rooms to hear the RVA Squares, a bluegrass band with a dance caller.
Eight couples took the challenge, including three all girl couples (one of each was given a tie to make her easier to identify as the male) and squared off as Grant Hunnicutt, hat, microphone and all, proceed to call out the square dancing instructions.
Gents go round the outside line
Pass your partner one time by
Pick a new girl on the fly
Swing her round
Step right back and watch her strut
Step back up and bump your butt
I'm not sure those are the same square dancing calls I heard when we square danced in elementary school, but they seemed to elicit much the same results.
It really did look like fun and while I'm sure I would have made a mess of it, I'd have tried square dancing for the first time since elementary school if someone had asked.
But they didn't, so I accepted an invitation from my favorite J-Ward couple to leave for Gallery 5 and the last of their evening of burlesque and boylesque.
The place was packed and we heard major hooting and hollering from outside, so I found a place by the radiator and stood on tip-toe to see the ample Dante the Inferno gyrate and strip down.
"That was just the perfect amount of awkward," host Parker said afterwards while scantily clad women were sweeping up the stripping droppings of Dante.
The lovely and zaftig Ellie "Iron Lady" Quinn was next and her red and gold costume zipped off while she danced provocatively to reveal a gold bikini top and gold thong with tassels .
The crowd ate it up, cheering her on until she removed her bikini top and it was just pasties with tassels, which she then proceeded to twirl like a pro, shimmying wildly.
Buster Britches was introduced as "the cream show Casanova" and Parker instructed us to make a path down the center of the room "cause he's gonna be coming from the back, just the way he likes it."
In a short floral robe and carrying an umbrella, the ample Buster strutted onstage to Billie Holiday's "He's a Tramp," dropped the robe and then spent the rest of the time adding clothes back on.
The night ended with Deanna Danger, not only a burlesque performer but a teacher ("You, too, can be up here taking your clothes off!" Parker said by way of introduction) in a fabulous gold and black dress with a slit skirt that got twirled and swirled overhead before being removed to reveal the tiniest of pasties and leopard briefs.
The audience was practically salivating and clearly disappointed that the evening's stripping was over.
Not me. Despite the fact that I hadn't danced at the discotheque, hadn't square danced, hadn't danced while taking my clothes off and no one's writing a "Waltz to Karen," tonight was a terrific lot of fun.
Not only am I wearing the latest in pink eraser jewelry, but I was told me that I always add laughter to a room.
A woman couldn't really ask for much more than that, could she?
A photographer friend and I were walking to dinner when he spied some interesting tile work on a building and paused to take a picture.
Next thing we know, the owner of the building, a charming Mexican, comes out and invites us in for a tour of the building he is renovating for his construction company.
I'm sure my mother would disapprove of going into a stranger's building with him, but I figure my sturdy male friend is my insurance against bodily harm.
Inside, the owner tells us that the building was a laundry for 75 years, showing off massive sliding metal doors, huge exhaust fans and an abundance of windows to let out the hot, steamy air.
Everywhere but the front of the building is still a work in progress, with part of the floor torn up in one place and a walkway over the hole.
When we get almost to the back, though, we find an intact floor, finished walls and where, wait for it, he says nonchalantly, "Here is my discotheque," while hitting a switch which starts the mirror ball turning and myriad strobe lights flashing along the roof line.
He says this is where they dance when he holds employee parties. It was about the last thing on earth I'd expected when we'd walked in the building.
That said, if he'd put on some music, I might have tried it out and I bet my friend would have, too.
Neither of us could get over the unexpected invitation followed by a peek inside a building we would otherwise never have seen.
While we were eating dinner afterwards, we caught up with each other's lives, the best part being when I asked how his relationship is going. I'd guessed that since he never has time to get together, it must be going quite well.
He affirmed how happy he was, saying, "She's smart, she likes to talk, she's good company and she used to be a cheerleader so she's flexible."
A man couldn't really ask for much more than that, could he?
The icing on the cake was when he surprised me by saying, "Since I won't be seeing you on Valentine's day, I have a present for you," pulling out a large pink eraser shaped like a diamond ring. "Anyone who doesn't put a ring on it is a dumbass."
Clearly he didn't want to be among that group. It was my first pink eraser diamond ring and although I'm not a jewelry person, I wore it all night.
Our next stop was Glave Kocen gallery to See "Click III," a biannual invitational photography show with the theme "From Mountains to Sea."
We both recognized several of the photographers' names while taking in a fascinating array of photography styles from photo montage to pinhole Polaroids to photo-journalism to abstractions. Our post-gallery discussion involved how the best digital photographs look like they were shot on 35 mm.
We parted ways in the arts district since I had First Fridays artwalking to do and he had other plans.
My first stop was at Black Iris gallery to see "Public Eye: Civil Rights Case Study," a series of photographs and videos shot for surveillance purposes during the '60s and '70s in Richmond.
The mug shots looked like Joe Average people, a comment I made to a woman who responded, "Yea, there's one of my sister."
I'm willing to bet if you're of an age and were in Richmond during the days of protests and demonstrations, you might recognize some young person's mug in the exhibit, too.
Projected on the back wall was a series of film clips, like a 1970 busing protest on Belvidere, a memorial for Martin Luther King at the state capital in 1968 (with women in white gloves and hats), a KKK parade and a Black Panther meeting on Laurel Street.
Of course Laurel Street. Where else but Oregon Hill would you expect to find Black Panthers and anarchists?
A black and white no-frills look at a period in RVA's history I missed, presented without political agenda or bias. As in, just the facts, ma'am. Definitely worth checking out.
From there, it was just a short walk to the Renaissance for WRIR's annual "party for the rest of us" to celebrate their ninth birthday.
I made a point to get there early enough to see River City Taiko, a group that plays traditional Japanese drums, which I have to assume means one person on either side of the drum playing different rhythms because that's what these people were doing, sometimes two at a time and sometimes the entire group at once.
The Colloquial Orchestra was next and while I've seen them many times, that's meaningless because the orchestra is defined as Dave Watkins on dulcitar and anyone else he asks to play with him, so never the same.
It can be a three piece, a six-piece or, like tonight, a 14-piece: two drummers, six guitarists (one acoustic), bass, trumpet, keyboard, violin,and a late-arriving sax player.
Improvising for a half hour, they wove elaborate soundscapes around the bass and drum center, creating what one first-timer described to me as sounding like "bagpipes on acid."
Changing rooms to catch some storytelling courtesy of Secretly Y'All, I heard the inimitable Herschel tell a tale of falling hard for a girl after hearing her laugh because, "it was the best laugh I ever heard."
Now there's a hell of a compliment.
He accompanied himself on ukulele when he sang a song partially based on their interaction.
Justin's story was about moving from Powhatan and an outdoor-centered life to Church Hill and having to push himself "to get off my ass and go outside," and his song was called "Silver and Diamonds."
Patrick's story was about a girl joining his group traveling Europe and after spending 24 hours with her, knowing he was deeply in love. Two months here went great but six weeks in Berlin made it painfully obvious she'd lost interest. His heartbreaking tribute was called "Waltz to Noel."
No one had mentioned that tonight's theme would be "guys with sad stories."
Milling about between bands, I ran into the DJ who works at WPA and had made all the lovely birthday cakes for tonight's party. I had him give me a rundown on what kind of cake was inside each since they all looked different.
Chocolate coconut and caramel chocolate seemed to hold the most promise for me. I took a swipe of icing just to be sure, alarming a DJ.
That's an annual tradition for me at this party, my friend. Just ask Andrew.
The one band I wanted to make sure I caught tonight was Hypercolor and walking into the ballroom as their set began, I knew in an instant that they were right up my alley.
A ruby-throated female lead singer playing guitar ("She's not your typical lead, she's even doing some finger-picking," the guy behind me whispered to me), two other lush-sounding guitars including one of the guys from Avers whom I'd just seen and the bassist from Fear of Music (also just seen last weekend) who together with the drummer kept everyone from wandering off into psychedelic bliss.
I kept moving closer and closer to the front to watch and listen to the impressive execution and well-written songs. I'll need to see them again soon.
The Silent Music Revival was presenting the avant-garde 1947 film "The Cage" with improvised soundtrack by Snack Truck and their thunderous rock was a fine match for the falling eyeballs, nude women running, leek stealers and other assorted oddities of the silent movie.
I could tell that a lot of people watching had never seen a SMR presentation before as they focused solely on the band and ignored the movie.
Guys, guys, guys.
Back in the main ballroom, the Ar-Kaics had morphed from a trio to a quartet since I'd last seen them at Steady Sounds but hard and fast ear-splitting garage rock was still their metier.
For something completely different, I crossed rooms to hear the RVA Squares, a bluegrass band with a dance caller.
Eight couples took the challenge, including three all girl couples (one of each was given a tie to make her easier to identify as the male) and squared off as Grant Hunnicutt, hat, microphone and all, proceed to call out the square dancing instructions.
Gents go round the outside line
Pass your partner one time by
Pick a new girl on the fly
Swing her round
Step right back and watch her strut
Step back up and bump your butt
I'm not sure those are the same square dancing calls I heard when we square danced in elementary school, but they seemed to elicit much the same results.
It really did look like fun and while I'm sure I would have made a mess of it, I'd have tried square dancing for the first time since elementary school if someone had asked.
But they didn't, so I accepted an invitation from my favorite J-Ward couple to leave for Gallery 5 and the last of their evening of burlesque and boylesque.
The place was packed and we heard major hooting and hollering from outside, so I found a place by the radiator and stood on tip-toe to see the ample Dante the Inferno gyrate and strip down.
"That was just the perfect amount of awkward," host Parker said afterwards while scantily clad women were sweeping up the stripping droppings of Dante.
The lovely and zaftig Ellie "Iron Lady" Quinn was next and her red and gold costume zipped off while she danced provocatively to reveal a gold bikini top and gold thong with tassels .
The crowd ate it up, cheering her on until she removed her bikini top and it was just pasties with tassels, which she then proceeded to twirl like a pro, shimmying wildly.
Buster Britches was introduced as "the cream show Casanova" and Parker instructed us to make a path down the center of the room "cause he's gonna be coming from the back, just the way he likes it."
In a short floral robe and carrying an umbrella, the ample Buster strutted onstage to Billie Holiday's "He's a Tramp," dropped the robe and then spent the rest of the time adding clothes back on.
The night ended with Deanna Danger, not only a burlesque performer but a teacher ("You, too, can be up here taking your clothes off!" Parker said by way of introduction) in a fabulous gold and black dress with a slit skirt that got twirled and swirled overhead before being removed to reveal the tiniest of pasties and leopard briefs.
The audience was practically salivating and clearly disappointed that the evening's stripping was over.
Not me. Despite the fact that I hadn't danced at the discotheque, hadn't square danced, hadn't danced while taking my clothes off and no one's writing a "Waltz to Karen," tonight was a terrific lot of fun.
Not only am I wearing the latest in pink eraser jewelry, but I was told me that I always add laughter to a room.
A woman couldn't really ask for much more than that, could she?
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Honest. I Did Not Lick the Art.
I couldn't get excited about going to the county, even for festive Lebanese food.
So for my lunch plans with a favorite couple, I countered by suggesting Olio and two of us had the bright idea to do the Main Street art walk afterwards.
I arrived a bit ahead of time, early enough to play straight man to owner Jason as we chatted about the scarcity of available (straight) men, the cashier heartily seconding that.
A salad seemed like just the thing for two of us (he got the smoked salmon Nicoise and I got the Springtime), while the Bottomless Pit got the prosciutto di parma sandwich and then scarfed our leftover grilled bread.
We took Jason up on his suggestion of cookies for dessert as we headed down Main Street to see what we might find.
I have to admit, I'm a big fan of the galleries in my J-Ward neighborhood (and, honestly, I usually like the art better on my side of town) and tend to avoid the Main Street ones because of the kind of people I encounter in them.
But on a leisurely Saturday, those people are absent and the galleries are an interesting mix of out-of-town Picasso visitors and others like us, out for an afternoon art stroll.
Our first stop was the Page Bond Gallery to see Andrea Keys Connell and Lacey Jane Roberts' "VCU Arts Craft/Material Studies Fountainhead Fellows" show.
Connell did large scale ceramic works, most of which pertained to the myth of Hercules, some coming in or out of the wall, and some emerging from the floor.
From hard to soft, the centerpiece of Roberts' works was a large scale knitted piece hung on the wall and draped on the floor with words sewn on it.
It was called "Queer Houses of Brooklyn" and a variety of topical buttons lay on the floor in front of it. The price listing for the show indicated that the buttons were for giving away, so I helped myself to one that said "shooting star."
Next up was Artemis Gallery, a place new to all of us. The array of hand-crafted items was staggering and the delightful assortment of handmade and artistic pasties undoubtedly the best I've ever seen. And, just for the record, I'm not that I'm in the market for pasties.
I ran into an artist who recognized me (I couldn't pull up her name for anything) when she overheard my friend make a remark about another artist she knew.
Luckily, she didn't hear the negative comment he'd made about her friend first (one of his most charming habits being his ill-timed and frequently overheard commentary). Oops.
At Red Door, Justin Bishop's metal sculpture from the past ten years reminded me of Giacometti's work, attenuated and with rough metal surfaces.
I was particularly fascinated by the one with nails driven into the figure. Another of a horizontal figure over sharp points was visually stunning.
Leslie Wayne's show at the Visual Arts Center was difficult to get our heads around. Wayne uses sculptural techniques to craft paintings that are three-dimensional. It was challenging to read the vibrantly colored, textured surfaces as paint.
A sign in the gallery said "Please do not touch (or lick) the paintings."
Awkwardly, I saw this sign after my friend and I had yielded to the impulse to lightly touch a surface in hopes of figuring it out.
Part of the show included Wayne's "One Big Love" series, for which the artist created rules including one that the canvases couldn't be larger than 13" x 10".
She also made listening to music one of the conditions of painting the series, resulting in her playing Patty Griffin's song "One Big Love" repeatedly. Needless to say, an artist using music as an obsession feeds into all kinds of things that appeal to me.
Our final stop was Glave Kocen for Ed Trask's show of large scale works, small photographs and metal sculpture.
I was charmed by seeing one of Ed's trademark straw hats hanging on the wall in between paintings.
I was taken by how many of the pieces had a red "sold" sticker on them when the show just opened a week ago. It appears that the Main Street art-buying set had their checkbooks out at Ed's opening.
Hell, I'd happily buy a Trask if I could afford one. I know I could enjoy looking at his work on my walls every day; it embodies Richmond.
And while I could have afforded one of the framed photographs, the ones that spoke to me had already been stickered.
Ah,well. Not meant to be, today anyway, or so the pragmatist in me whispered.
Likewise the Lebanese Food Festival wasn't meant to be for me today. But given the satisfying afternoon I spent eating and ogling art with the happy couple, I'm not feeling any loss.
Shooting stars look forward, not at what they missed.
So for my lunch plans with a favorite couple, I countered by suggesting Olio and two of us had the bright idea to do the Main Street art walk afterwards.
I arrived a bit ahead of time, early enough to play straight man to owner Jason as we chatted about the scarcity of available (straight) men, the cashier heartily seconding that.
A salad seemed like just the thing for two of us (he got the smoked salmon Nicoise and I got the Springtime), while the Bottomless Pit got the prosciutto di parma sandwich and then scarfed our leftover grilled bread.
We took Jason up on his suggestion of cookies for dessert as we headed down Main Street to see what we might find.
I have to admit, I'm a big fan of the galleries in my J-Ward neighborhood (and, honestly, I usually like the art better on my side of town) and tend to avoid the Main Street ones because of the kind of people I encounter in them.
But on a leisurely Saturday, those people are absent and the galleries are an interesting mix of out-of-town Picasso visitors and others like us, out for an afternoon art stroll.
Our first stop was the Page Bond Gallery to see Andrea Keys Connell and Lacey Jane Roberts' "VCU Arts Craft/Material Studies Fountainhead Fellows" show.
Connell did large scale ceramic works, most of which pertained to the myth of Hercules, some coming in or out of the wall, and some emerging from the floor.
From hard to soft, the centerpiece of Roberts' works was a large scale knitted piece hung on the wall and draped on the floor with words sewn on it.
It was called "Queer Houses of Brooklyn" and a variety of topical buttons lay on the floor in front of it. The price listing for the show indicated that the buttons were for giving away, so I helped myself to one that said "shooting star."
Next up was Artemis Gallery, a place new to all of us. The array of hand-crafted items was staggering and the delightful assortment of handmade and artistic pasties undoubtedly the best I've ever seen. And, just for the record, I'm not that I'm in the market for pasties.
I ran into an artist who recognized me (I couldn't pull up her name for anything) when she overheard my friend make a remark about another artist she knew.
Luckily, she didn't hear the negative comment he'd made about her friend first (one of his most charming habits being his ill-timed and frequently overheard commentary). Oops.
At Red Door, Justin Bishop's metal sculpture from the past ten years reminded me of Giacometti's work, attenuated and with rough metal surfaces.
I was particularly fascinated by the one with nails driven into the figure. Another of a horizontal figure over sharp points was visually stunning.
Leslie Wayne's show at the Visual Arts Center was difficult to get our heads around. Wayne uses sculptural techniques to craft paintings that are three-dimensional. It was challenging to read the vibrantly colored, textured surfaces as paint.
A sign in the gallery said "Please do not touch (or lick) the paintings."
Awkwardly, I saw this sign after my friend and I had yielded to the impulse to lightly touch a surface in hopes of figuring it out.
Part of the show included Wayne's "One Big Love" series, for which the artist created rules including one that the canvases couldn't be larger than 13" x 10".
She also made listening to music one of the conditions of painting the series, resulting in her playing Patty Griffin's song "One Big Love" repeatedly. Needless to say, an artist using music as an obsession feeds into all kinds of things that appeal to me.
Our final stop was Glave Kocen for Ed Trask's show of large scale works, small photographs and metal sculpture.
I was charmed by seeing one of Ed's trademark straw hats hanging on the wall in between paintings.
I was taken by how many of the pieces had a red "sold" sticker on them when the show just opened a week ago. It appears that the Main Street art-buying set had their checkbooks out at Ed's opening.
Hell, I'd happily buy a Trask if I could afford one. I know I could enjoy looking at his work on my walls every day; it embodies Richmond.
And while I could have afforded one of the framed photographs, the ones that spoke to me had already been stickered.
Ah,well. Not meant to be, today anyway, or so the pragmatist in me whispered.
Likewise the Lebanese Food Festival wasn't meant to be for me today. But given the satisfying afternoon I spent eating and ogling art with the happy couple, I'm not feeling any loss.
Shooting stars look forward, not at what they missed.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Six Hours, Six Stops
The cancellation of February's First Friday Art walk because of the weekly weekend storm meant that it didn't take much to get me gallery-hopping tonight.
Adding in a few other activities, I planned an evening that began in Carytown, swung through the Fan then up to Church Hill and ended back a half mile from my house.
Tres convenient.
Any good Friday evening starts with a wine tasting and tonight River City Cellars was also doing a (Gearhart's) chocolate tasting in honor of St. Valentine's Day.
The place was packed, but I needed a bottle of wine for an upcoming dinner, so it wasn't just about quaffing wine and scarfing good chocolate.
Okay, it was mostly about that, but they were pouring, among others, the Innocent Bystander Pink Moscato, which paired divinely with the dark chocolate.
I got the wine I came for and a little of those heavenly Charlottesville-made chocolates.
At Chop Suey, I checked out Adam Juresko's latest show, "Flight of the Rat."
As an added attraction, Adam had also painted a mural on the wall of the staircase leading up to the second floor, which added some personality to the trip upstairs.
I already own one of his works and I was curious to see how the new work differed from what I had.
As always, he'd found fresh imagery to use throughout his collages; he may be eccentric, but the work is always interesting.
And then for something completely different, I went to Glave-Kocen Gallery on Main Street to see the "Click" Invitation Photography exhibit, showcasing local photographers like Scott Elmquist, Jay Paul and Ash Daniel.
The problem was navigating the gallery: clearly this was a see-and-be-seen event and chatty, well-dressed cliques impeded the progress of those of us there to actually see the photographs, some of which were well worth seeing.
By the time I'd finished looking at everything, I couldn't wait to escape that crowd.
Starving by now, I stopped at Pie for pizza and was greeted by the owner.
My first choice, the Cured Meat pie (garlic, Fontina, mozzarella and soprasetta) was sold out, so I ordered it with sausage instead of soprasetta.
There was some mis-communication, though, because I got a red, not white pizza, but the red sauce was so thinly spread that even I couldn't object.
The thickly sliced sausage was excellent and more than made up for the tomato presence.
And best of all, a nearby table was discussing a local food blogger's rants. Delicious!
Then I drove up the big hill to Eric Schindler Gallery for "z-black series," acrylic paintings by Scott Phillips.
The man wields paint densely and color lavishly.
There was a sense of vibrancy in his brushstrokes that made every object, every sky, everything undulate, almost van Gogh-like.
I fell particularly hard for probably the least colorful painting in the show, but unfortunately, although well-priced, it just wasn't in my budget.
My final stop of the evening was at Ipanema for some wine and girl talk; my friend had suggested I come by so that we could dish about her work life (crushing at the moment) and my social life (having a really good time lately).
She kindly pointed out that it was way more satisfying to hear about what I was up to face to face rather than just reading it on the blog, especially for the edited material.
And lest I make it sound like all we did was gab, we did discuss my local art collection; like me, she appreciates how much talent there is in this town.
So it wasn't a true First Friday since there was driving involved and I'd never have seen that Glave-Kocen crowd in J-Ward, but tonight had all the components of an art-driven evening with enough wine, food and conversation to keep me from complete art immersion.
Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, but a Friday night calls for considerably more, especially for us innocent bystander types.
Adding in a few other activities, I planned an evening that began in Carytown, swung through the Fan then up to Church Hill and ended back a half mile from my house.
Tres convenient.
Any good Friday evening starts with a wine tasting and tonight River City Cellars was also doing a (Gearhart's) chocolate tasting in honor of St. Valentine's Day.
The place was packed, but I needed a bottle of wine for an upcoming dinner, so it wasn't just about quaffing wine and scarfing good chocolate.
Okay, it was mostly about that, but they were pouring, among others, the Innocent Bystander Pink Moscato, which paired divinely with the dark chocolate.
I got the wine I came for and a little of those heavenly Charlottesville-made chocolates.
At Chop Suey, I checked out Adam Juresko's latest show, "Flight of the Rat."
As an added attraction, Adam had also painted a mural on the wall of the staircase leading up to the second floor, which added some personality to the trip upstairs.
I already own one of his works and I was curious to see how the new work differed from what I had.
As always, he'd found fresh imagery to use throughout his collages; he may be eccentric, but the work is always interesting.
And then for something completely different, I went to Glave-Kocen Gallery on Main Street to see the "Click" Invitation Photography exhibit, showcasing local photographers like Scott Elmquist, Jay Paul and Ash Daniel.
The problem was navigating the gallery: clearly this was a see-and-be-seen event and chatty, well-dressed cliques impeded the progress of those of us there to actually see the photographs, some of which were well worth seeing.
By the time I'd finished looking at everything, I couldn't wait to escape that crowd.
Starving by now, I stopped at Pie for pizza and was greeted by the owner.
My first choice, the Cured Meat pie (garlic, Fontina, mozzarella and soprasetta) was sold out, so I ordered it with sausage instead of soprasetta.
There was some mis-communication, though, because I got a red, not white pizza, but the red sauce was so thinly spread that even I couldn't object.
The thickly sliced sausage was excellent and more than made up for the tomato presence.
And best of all, a nearby table was discussing a local food blogger's rants. Delicious!
Then I drove up the big hill to Eric Schindler Gallery for "z-black series," acrylic paintings by Scott Phillips.
The man wields paint densely and color lavishly.
There was a sense of vibrancy in his brushstrokes that made every object, every sky, everything undulate, almost van Gogh-like.
I fell particularly hard for probably the least colorful painting in the show, but unfortunately, although well-priced, it just wasn't in my budget.
My final stop of the evening was at Ipanema for some wine and girl talk; my friend had suggested I come by so that we could dish about her work life (crushing at the moment) and my social life (having a really good time lately).
She kindly pointed out that it was way more satisfying to hear about what I was up to face to face rather than just reading it on the blog, especially for the edited material.
And lest I make it sound like all we did was gab, we did discuss my local art collection; like me, she appreciates how much talent there is in this town.
So it wasn't a true First Friday since there was driving involved and I'd never have seen that Glave-Kocen crowd in J-Ward, but tonight had all the components of an art-driven evening with enough wine, food and conversation to keep me from complete art immersion.
Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, but a Friday night calls for considerably more, especially for us innocent bystander types.
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