Pavilion of Lasting Amazement

Some calls you can make five days out.

When a prior obligation kept my friend from meeting up to take in "Forbidden City" at the VMFA with me, she countered with, "Saturday is supposed to be gray and raining - a perfect day for the museum."

The weather gods didn't let us down. It had been merely spitting when I'd walked this morning, but by the time I left for the museum - taking the long way around because of the remaining parade traffic - the rain was showing more intention.

Of course she was right; the museum was a lovely place to spend a gloomy afternoon. We met at the Boulevard entrance and made our way to the service desk for tickets. To my utter delight, there I was surprised with my Christmas gift from her: a VMFA membership since mine had expired.

Talk about the gift that keeps giving! I was absolutely thrilled at her thoughtful gift, knowing it will be well used for the next twelve months.

Then it was downstairs to see "Forbidden City: Imperial Treasures from the Palace Museum, Beijing," a collection of royal "stuff" from the 17th and 18th centuries. Its appeal was that commoners would never have been able to see most of it since the city was walled and had a moat to keep out the hoi polloi such as me.

While I learned some things from reading the signage next to the objects (favorite horse name: Thousands of Auspiciousness), too often I found myself left wondering about others. Like, how did an emperor have time to write 40,000 poems in his lifetime?

What was carried in a banquet box? Was the wooden box with metal grate the equivalent of 17th century Chinese Tupperware or did it have some ritual purpose?

Probably most fascinating was that Italian painters went to China and spent years as the court painters there, marrying eastern and western styles of art. The last names I expected to see on pieces of Chinese art were Giuseppe and Ignatius, but there they were. Surely there was a bit of a language barrier in the beginning.

Everything depicted, whether on a screen, scroll, canvas or object, depicted a detailed scene. One charming example was a paperweight (big enough to hold down the Dead Sea scrolls) on which was carved a scene of scholars competing for wine with recitations of poems.

It appears that wine and poetry have suited each other throughout the ages.

And speaking of verse, when we came upon one on a wall, my friend noted, "That describes the new Karen." It read:

I care not a jot for immortal life
But only for the taste of tea
~Poet Lu Tong

Clearly she wasn't talking about tea.

We both found it interesting how Chinese art of this era differed from western art. Perspective was often flawed - figures looked like they could slide right off the picture plane - and there was no accurate suggestion of bodies or musculature under the robes worn in the images.

Both a set of ritual bells with dragon motifs in a stand resting on crouched lions and a set of ritual chimes in a stand resting on swans were awe-inspiring for the intricacy of the components.

A piece depicting the emperor with all his many children celebrating the New Year with firecrackers was stunning (and again, by an Italian) in its use of color and composition. The way the father held his infant son reminded us of a classic Madonna and child pose.

On leaving the ornate exhibit, she admitted to an attraction for all the textiles - many of the ceremonial robes were intricate works of art - but said she felt unsatisfied. I knew just how to fix that.

Leading her upstairs, we spent the next hour lost in "Water and Shadow: Kawase Hasui and Japanese Landscape Prints," the show that had bowled me over a couple of weeks ago, here.

Because she's also an artist, her appreciation for the stunning prints was also for the technique involved; his depiction of night time rain and snow was a thing of wonder. Walking beside her as she experienced the exhibit for the first time, I knew instinctively that any dissatisfaction she'd arrived with was long gone.

Hasui's watercolors and woodblock prints from 1917 to 1923 display elements of Monet's water, Cezanne's buildings and Whistler's atmosphere and synthesize them through images of a rapidly eroding Japanese landscape, each more compelling than the last.

Before we were halfway through, she turned to me to say that she intended to come back. Since I was already on my second visit, I understood at once. It's a show that leaves the viewer utterly serene.

That and completely satisfied.

Let's just say had she been a smoker, I think she'd have pulled out a cigarette as we left the museum.

That kind of good.

Not Without You

If Picasso was right and art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls, I am dust-free. Immaculate, even.

How could I not be after taking in three shows in one night? Beginning at VMFA, the first was Miwako Nishizawa's "Twelve Views of Virginia," done by the Japanese-American artist in the traditional Japanese woodblock style.

At first glance, the prints could be mistaken for Japanese works, but on closer inspection, no. I found the prints a fascinating look at depicting the state, although less successful when larger figures were involved. The horse in "Colonial Williamsburg" or the statue in "College of William and Mary" had a clunky solidity that I don't expect from true Japanese prints.

But "Skyline Drive," "Blue Ridge, the Priest" and "Hollywood Cemetery" translated beautifully. In any case, the twelve prints are as different a depiction of familiar landmarks as any you'll see.

From there, I stepped out of the gallery long enough to admire the people tangoing below in the atrium before walking to Evans Court, past a group on a Friday tour looking at Byzantine art.

Walking into "Water and Shadow: Kawase Hasui and Japanese Landscape Prints," I was immediately surrounded by exquisite blue/gray walls that called to mind the sea at dusk. Just beautiful. The exhibit was far larger than I'd anticipated with multiple galleries of Hasui's sublime watercolors and prints.

Included were two large two-panel screens that were breathtaking. In "Coastal Landscape," you could see fish drying on a rooftop and people going about their business on the streets of the seaside village. "Lake Towada" was a study in serenity.

I'd learned in last week's lecture that Hasui had created these landscapes as a means of nostalgia, looking back at a Japan that was quickly being replaced with a more modern one. The simple scenes of winding roads, hillsides, boats on water and temples conjure up a simpler time.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw a woodblock print with the jolly old elf in it. "Christmas Card with Santa Claus in Japanese Landscape" was a tad jarring, but in the most beautiful way.

You see Santa from behind, his pack on his shoulder and leaving a trail of deep footprints in the snow behind him as he heads toward a typical Japanese-style house, with its roof and the surrounding trees laden with snow.

East meets west, right there in that one holiday print.

One thing that was apparent in looking at Hasui's work was how influenced he'd been by the western 19th century art he'd studied.

The other thing was that I was never going to be able to pick a favorite because every time I thought I'd chosen, I'd come upon another piece so striking that it became my new fave. Call me fickle (and some will), but if you see the show (and you definitely should), you'll likely find yourself with the same dilemma.

That, and an overwhelming sense of tranquility as you leave it.

Properly warmed up, my next outing was outside in the 27 degree air. "InLight" was being held in Monroe Park this year, meaning an easy walk for me and a fellow Jackson Ward dweller.

It was a shame it was so cold because the park was kind of a cool location for InLight - contained, but full of natural and man-made elements.

The first thing that caught my attention was "Not Without You," which used volunteers to don props - rabbit ears and a fox mask - and ride stationary bikes behind a lit screen to create a shadow play. One couple conspired to use their hands to shape a heart, eliciting an "ahh" moment from the crowd.

Did I mention it was 27 degrees?

Projections were being shown on the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart, and in looking at them we noticed the open doors. Coming through the vestibule, I saw the cathedral was lit only by candlelight. Inside, I was given a small votive and further down the aisle it was lit for me.

The entire effect of so many tiny candles near the altar was stunning, gorgeous even, and I stopped long enough to take it all in. A man near me had his head bowed in prayer while many people knelt in front of the mass of candles. Some sat in pews and so did I for a minute.

I imagine the effect was similar to that of attending church at night in the time before electricity. It was easy to feel like a small part of something much bigger. Hell, it was almost enough to make a heathen like me think about religion. Almost.

Next door at the Episcopalian church, I found some sort of service going on in the tiny chapel, but nothing InLight-related. That was okay mainly because the vaulted ceiling and wooden buttresses were so impressive, they made it worth going in even without a light show.

Walking in as I left, a girl asked her companion, "Is this part of InLight? What could be in a church?" Her companion shot back, "Jesus." So, there was humor (and heat) at the Episcopal church at least.

On the far side from that, the neon tree house was noteworthy because its framework had been constructed around a couple of the large tree's branches, so we could see limbs against flashing blue neon. Appropriately, a neon ladder hung from it.

But my first thought when I saw it was that it owed a debt to the Jackson Ward house installation at InLight several years ago. Same idea, just smaller and higher off the ground.

And speaking of trees, a huge, old magnolia tree had been given a cluster of magnolia blossom lights - made of heavy coated paper - hanging from its branches. They were lovely, evoking the real thick-petaled blooms of the magnolia with the only thing missing being the smell.

Unfortunately, the brightest thing at InLight was that gaudy Mosque Landmark Altria theater marquee. Too bad because the projections of shimmering water on to the front of the theater were so well done. The artist had even planned it so that the projections were only on the flat parts of the facade and not on the recessed arch.

The problem with tonight's sub-freezing temperatures was that I wasn't motivated to stand in long lines to see a couple of installations such as the one with the shack over the ice hole. Curious about it? Undoubtedly. Willing to stand and wait and freeze (even in velvet pants over tights)? Not so much.

There was even a topical installation about Monroe Park. You asked a question about the park into a microphone and the screen showed someone talking about that subject. It was kind of amazing how quickly the program pulled up a local person's sound bite on the subject. Ah, technology.

But at the end of the night, my most vivid memory was of the cathedral lit by candlelight. No technology, no computer, no projections. Just light in a beautiful space. Art.

Soul dusting of the highest order.