RVA in the '10s

It must be First Friday artwalk because Gull was playing outside of Lift.

After having missed last month's event because I was out of town for the weekend, I was glad to see that all was calm and bright on Broad Street tonight.

The crowds may have been slightly smaller but probably many chose the Grand Illumination over mere art.

I'm not here to judge.

Walking into ADA Gallery, I almost tripped over a former bartender I knew sitting by the front door. When I asked what he was doing, he replied laconically, "Security."

For the time being, his job was pretty easy since I was the only person in the gallery for Jenny Kendler's show, "Archipelago."

The intricate drawings necessitated a closer look for the intriguing details hidden throughout, but my favorite piece was a twig installation resembling a cave and decorated in small round mirrors and crystals.

At Ghostprint Gallery I met the artist, Yussef Agbo-Ola, and marveled at his large-format crystallized photographs mounted on steel.

For a guy who's only been doing photography for a year, his eye for composition and subject was extraordinary.

"King of Golden Souls," a life-sized photo of a man holding one hand over one eye was positively mesmerizing.

I ran into some friends and found myself in a discussion of where in the arc of "becoming" Richmond is these days.

Will people look back in twenty years and wish they were part of the scene that changed RVA from what it was to what it could be?

Is this our Paris in the '20s or NYC in the '50s period? Gamble or go, that is the question we bandied about.

Of course we didn't resolve anything, but I so enjoy talking to others who believe in what this place can be.

Next door at the new Candela Gallery, Shelby Lee Adams' photographs of the people of Appalachia, "Salt and Truth," were an unsettling glimpse into another world.

Disturbingly skinny children gazed out but so did curiously fat ones, making for a commentary on the effects of poverty.

A man sat in a chair surrounded by unbelievable amounts of stuff; in another world, a caption would have labeled him a hoarder. The curtains at his window had Bambi on them.

The new space is a superb addition to Jackson Ward, making for our first photography gallery and a dedicated space for one of my very favorite art forms.

Meanwhile, back at the artwalk, I passed a gaggle of a dozen policemen as I made my way across the street.

A cop cluster, so to speak.

Having interviewed the artists showing at Metro Space Gallery for Style Weekly, here, I was eager to see the Bruner clan's group show.

Mother Vicki grabbed me with her "Bad Habits" series featuring nuns in various states of toplessness; one had a target where a fig leaf goes. Another had a pope hat.

Son Barry's screenprints contained some famous faces like Obama, Reagan and Gorbachev, but my favorite was "Business Lunch," showing a man from the mouth down, so busy talking that he hadn't noticed he'd cut off his fingers on his lunch plate.

Daughter Jordan had an entire wall devoted to her work with the centerpiece being "Leaf Woman," a full-size female  figure with outstretched arms and jutting legs made of leaf shapes and other small pieces connected by toothpicks.

The overall effect was colorful, delicate and visually compelling. If I had a wall big enough for it (I don't) and a spare $1800 (ditto), I'd have bought it on the spot.

Gallery 5 had a lot to offer tonight including last month's show, "Disarmingly Modern," which I had missed, their Holiday Market and Lobo Marino playing live.

Ned Fry's sculptures, all of which used the Venus de Milo as a starting point, were interesting interpretations, but the one of the statue sliced and constantly shifting shape was downright mesmerizing.

It was upstairs there that a friend walked up to me and without saying a word, leaned down and sniffed my hair.

"Smells good," he pronounced, referring to my post about how awful it smelled after last night's foray to the Republic.

I was glad I had washed it so he hadn't had to make an observation about how rank it still was.

In fact, that's a perfect example of why mothers tell you always to wear clean underwear in case you end up in a car accident.

You just never know.

Walking back toward my house after all the fun was over, I saw a guy walking toward me on the next block.

"I'd know that walk anywhere!" he called out, apparently to me since not another soul was around.

When we passed each other, I looked at him and said, "Really?"

"Oh, yes," he said with the certainty of someone who had seen me walk many times before.

I have absolutely no idea who he was.

I do know that Gull played on outside of Lift.

Quail and New Wave

I didn't mean to do Restaurant Week, really I didn't. When a friend suggested meeting up before I went to the National, I didn't give it a moment's thought when I told him Bistro 27, my neighborhood joint.

And then when I got there and realized what I'd done, it just seemed easier to stay. I try to stay out of the fray during the hustle and bustle of RW, but there was room for us at the bar and Carlos wanted me to try his menu and before you know it, we had a bottle of the Barboursville Cab Franc and I was scanning the menu.

Friend had dinner plans later, so it was just me eating and after a quick look at the menu, there was really no question. The pan-roasted quail stuffed with a mixed mushroom and foie gras mousse served over autumn root veggies was too tempting to pass up, so I didn't.

The funny part was that Carlos came over then and said I should order the quail after I'd already decided it was what I was getting, so I could pretend I was taking the chef's recommendation.

Of course, I had to have a first course to get to the quail and I went with the Bistro salad, a perennial favorite of mine, as was my dessert of choice, the hazelnut chocolate torte, But I've swooned over them both before and it was really the quail that was the star tonight.

The mousse stuffing was decadent and the heaping dish of minutely-cut root vegetables was everything fall should taste like. I only hope other diners are smart enough to order something so un-RW-like. I was the first of six who ordered it tonight he said.

Friend had to leave to pick up his dinner partner, so I finished my wine and chocolate solo before moving on to the National. Local band Lubek opened and were playing when I arrived. I hadn't heard them before, but knew they were on the new RVA label Acme Thunderer (such a great name).

Metric's set was indie/new wave with loads of 80s influences and plenty of post-punk guitar. Lead singer Emily Haines (and her little girl voice) had nailed the 80s look in an off-the-shoulder metallic tunic (so Flashdance) that shone under the lights with every step she danced.

And did she ever dance...except when she was vogueing, posing one way or another to the beat of the music. Her baby-fine blond hair was in a perpetual state of slo-mo windblown from an unseen stage fan. She had the audience in her thrall for sure.

Guitarist James Shaw did his 80s take with a skinny tie, but his strong suit was his incredible speed on the guitar. I only wish he hadn't spent so much time facing the back rather than the audience. Perhaps he is the yin to Haines' yang. In any case, he had my full attention.

The audience was full of Metric lovers, most of whom knew every word and sang along. For a change, I only saw a few people I knew besides one of my faithful bartender friends.

Afterwards, I went next door to Gibson's to meet a friend and hear a couple of Minneapolis bands, Me & My Arrow and Phantom Tails. M&MA, a nine-piece, were especially interesting because I always appreciate a band with a cello. Especially when it's being played under a disco ball.

We left before I got to hear one of my favorite local bands, the Colloquial Orchestra, because friend needed to get home. But it turned out that he also wanted to make a quick stop at Penny Lane, so we detoured there, resulting in a random discussion of Mt. Everest and Mallory vs. Hillary with a nearby beard.

You never know when two guys with Wikipedia minutia on the same subject will get going, but I watched it unfold tonight (what did happen to the wife's photograph?). That's what I get for stopping at Penny Lane.

That, a taste of good Scottish beer and a bartender who called me "love." All as unexpected as my indulgence in Restaurant Week.

But then life seems to be handing me a lot of unexpected lately. The question is, what do I do with it?

Hell if I know.