Dirty Minds and Empty Beds

I began my evening with a South African and for a change it wasn't a wine.

Photographer Zweletha Mthethwa was speaking at the Grace Street Theater in conjunction with the stellar Environment and Object exhibit at the Anderson Gallery.

To challenge his audience, Mthethwa began by showing a short-form video, but placated the audience by saying, "I promise you it's not a long video, maybe four minutes."

Have we really become a people who need to be promised short bites in order to hold our attention?

Don't answer that.

On the other hand, the artist said he often works on multiple projects simultaneously to stave off boredom, so perhaps he understands the short attention span from the inside out.

The first of three videos was comprised of still photographs and set to the South African national anthem.

Mthethwa made a point to mention that he objects to the new anthem because it utilizes three languages.

Duly noted.

The other two videos contained moving images, not stills, and the second, a soundless black and white piece, was notable for its unclear actions.

We saw skin contracting and contorted facial movements with no real explanation for what was going on.

After a minute or so, some people began squirming in their seats, presuming we were seeing the faces of people in the throes of passion.

Turns out they were weight-lifting, but as Mthethwa pointed out, "It's open-ended. I enjoy bringing audiences in and seeing what they bring to the work."

Dirty minds mostly, I'd say.

The last video provided a unique perspective because the camera had been placed in a ball, meaning we saw grass and sky and everything in between in a never-ending revolution.

It was an insular view that delivered a different reality than a person might otherwise know.

Video paved the way for his photography and we were shown works from various series, including "Interiors" (of people in their hardscrabble rooms), "Empty Beds" and "Sugar Cane Farmers."

His large-scale format photographs show South African natives usually from the bottom of the economic ladder and are as much about portraiture as about the marginal landscapes they inhabit.

During the question and answer period, we learned that Mthethwa knocked on doors to get many of his pictures and told the subjects to act naturally.

He preferred that they didn't smile since, in his opinion, most smiles are not natural.

After so much enlightenment, I went to Secco to meet a friend and kill some brain cells.

The evening was notable for the excellent bubbles we drank (Pierre Paillard Brut champagne) to celebrate both her birthday and upcoming one-year relationship anniversary.

Knowing that a cold front is about to usher in Fall (much to my sorrow and everyone else's delight), I chose to drink the last of the rose before they're gone (but never forgotten).

I did bow to the impending coolness with a dish of the house made gnocchi with lamb ragout and preserved Meyer lemon.

Its deep flavor and pillows of potato gnocchi made me happy Chef Tim was willing to do the work so all I had to do was chow down.

What with non-stop conversation, beautiful bubbles and long-braised lamb, I was feeling awfully pleased with my evening.

And let me assure you, Mr. Mthethwa, my smile was not only natural, but completely sincere.

Knock on my door and you can take my picture to prove it.

Swagger and Figs

Go out Monday nights and avoid the crowds, but run into industry people everywhere.

Today's beautiful weather landed me at Lamplighter for some outside conversation with a couple of restaurant types and where I ran into a couple of the Balliceaux crew.

There's nothing like running into a trendy bartender and hearing that he's on his way home to spend the evening reading Harry Potter #4 to reassure me that all is right with the world.

Honestly, I mean that.

Next up was Secco because Mondays are a great night to go and enjoy a lively bar when most places are closed.

Greeting me on arrival was a Bistro 27 staffer enjoying his day off. We chatted on the sidewalk for a bit before he left and I went in.

As always at Secco, the hard part is picking a pink.

With a notation that it tasted like Capri Sun (in a good way) and was made with love, how could I resist Grange Tiphaine Rimage Tournant Touraine Rose with its deep pink color and fruity taste?

I couldn't.

I was lonely for company at the bar when I arrived, but that quickly changed with the arrival of a swaggering man (his words) and the steady company of talkative staff.

One of tonight's specials was a salad of arugula, figs, goat cheese and fried almonds in a 20-year old sherry vinaigrette.

Since I'm fig-obsessed lately, I found this combination to be a delightful one, with the peppery arugula balancing the sweetness of the figs.

I ended up talking to the swaggerer who boasted of wearing salmon colored shirts (the bartender had on lavender and that had been the starting point) as a way of making statements about himself.

It turns out that people questioned him for wearing such colors to work, but he told them that he was "working it," so he was entitled to wear whatever he wanted to.

He said it's all about the swagger, an attitude with which I have some familiarity in men.

He was also enthusiastically eating cheese, so I decided to follow suit with the Cabecou, described as "goaty, gooey and gorgeous."

It boggles the mind how many things besides cheese those adjectives could apply to.

Two of the servers described it as their current favorite, and after tasting its buttery creaminess, I could see why they'd praised it.

I couldn't decide whether it was better with the plum chutney or the onion jam, so I ate both with it.

But it wasn't just about cheese; I was meeting up with a friend who got the evening off to a great start by loaning me a book she highly recommended.

Yes it's a love story which I probably have no business reading, but it's hard to resist a book recommended for its beautiful language.

As another friend and I recently discussed, when it comes to love and potential mates, not knowing the difference between "your" and "you're" is a deal breaker.

And let's not even talk about "should of."

Language matters, at least to a certain nerdy set.

Meanwhile, a big-name chef came in with his lawyer; they were in the neighborhood checking out potential locations.

His bluster may have sucked  a bit of air out of the room, but we managed to carry on with our girl talk in spite of him.

Nerds have always had a way of tuning out the popular people.

It used to be about self-preservation. Now it's just choice.