My Sun and Shadow Salon

When I grow up, I want to curate.

Doesn't matter what. I'll curate music shows, maybe a few gallery shows, you name it. I just like the idea of being in charge of deciding what's interesting.

So you can see it was only logical for me to end up at the Anderson Gallery for the curator's talk about the outstanding new sculpture show.

Michael Jones McKean, sculptor and curator for "you, you sun and shadow" was giving an overview of the exhibit by showing images of the pieces as we sat in one of the galleries.

In a perfect world, we would have followed him around the galleries as he talked about the actual pieces, but there were far too many people there tonight for that to be possible.

Revert to Plan B.

Instead we sat and stood to hear his thoughts on the challenges of assembling a collection of objects in this space in this building in this city.

Looking every inch the intense young sculptor that he is, McKean talked about the ego blow of getting told no when he requested a certain piece for the show.

He told of the weekly meetings over the course of a year with the Anderson director to keep her abreast of his curating progress.

Or, as he put it, "We'd have these rap sessions and we'd just be freewheeling."

That's the kind of enthusiasm I want going into the curatorial process.

During the Q & A period, someone asked about the correlation between McKean's own work and the pieces he chose for the show. Did it represent something he had not yet achieved?

"There's some jam inside the works that I want to taste," he explained with a metaphor only an artist could deliver so quickly and sincerely.

Walking around the show afterwards was a fascinating look at the state of contemporary sculpture.

Delicate river twigs were woven into a small geodesic dome.

The figure of a  man levitates off the floor, feet in the air to greet visitors to the gallery (per the artist's instructions).

Pedestals appear to be recognizably square only to have completely unexpected sides when viewed all the way around.

A mix tape is made out of the dust of every bone in the body.

That, I would venture, is a collection of incredibly interesting stuff. That's why I want to curate.

While looking at the show, a guy I'd met six months ago came up and re-introduced himself.

He made my night by telling me that he's been reading my blog ever since. In fact, he said it had inspired him to get out more and do some of the stuff I'm always writing about.

Even better, he said I sound like I'm always having fun. How's that for the most random compliment a blogger could hope for?

With that kind of good will floating my boat, we bid farewell to art and hello to Lemaire's crowded bar.

By the time we made one loop around the bar two stools had opened up and we made them our own.

With a minute to spare, we scored a bottle of one of the Discovery wines, the Renoto Fuedo Maccari Nero D'Alva/Syrah blend full of dark fruit and tannins and we were set.

In the course of drinking the bottle, we discussed the age-old "but is it art?" question. There were some pieces in the show that challenged my companion's concept of art, making for some lively conversation.

At one point, two girls walked by teetering on impossibly high heels and I said something about it to my trusty sidekick.

Moments later, a guy came up to us and commented about how the girls couldn't even walk in those things. I offered up proof that, with enough experience, you can walk in anything.

Likewise, with enough experience (and I may be approaching that point), I figure I could curate any number of things.

People would be my first choice. I'd like to assemble a salon of interesting types to join me for conversation. shared witticisms and storytelling.

And you know why? Because there'd be jam inside of each person and I'd want to taste it.

See? I'm already talking like a curator.

Sunny with a Chance of Sunnier

Getting caught in the midst of a cocktail meet-up for recent UVA graduates is more challenging than you might think.

They're loud talkers, everyone has a sob story about their job ("I already have an exit strategy") and they're there to network like there's no tomorrow ("I sent you an e-vite, but you never responded"). And they lean over barsitters as if they're not there. I mean, I'm short, but I'm visible.

I know this only because I met a friend at Lemaire tonight and the only two open stools we could find were on the fringes of the UVA group, which continued to grow for about two hours before finally leveling off as people left or took tables to form smaller dinner groups. We were hoarse by the time they thinned out.

Meanwhile, we were just trying to catch up after an inadvertent hiatus since before Thanksgiving. He started with a heavily bruised martini while I ordered a bottle of Fuedo Maccari Syrah Nero D'Alva Renoto for us both to share once he'd gotten his gin fix.

It was one of the $10 Discovery wines for tonight, so the bottle was cheaper than his one drink. Clearly Wednesdays are for winos at Lemaire.

His first and most urgent questions were about my personal life and what progress I had made since our last get-together, apparently a major topic that night, at least the way he remembers it.

He had set his sights unrealistically high, but I filled him in on some of the more amusing evenings and promising people of the past two months. Still, I don't think anything short of an engagement would have impressed him.

To sustain us during such deep conversation, we got the cornmeal-crusted Chesapeake Bay oysters and slaw, the brandy peppercorn-dusted beef tartare and a cheese plate with Humbolt Fog and Tillamook cheddar with fruit. The oysters were a sweet reminder of the pleasures of an "R" month.

He gave me his usual "you need a cell phone" lecture and I ignored it as usual. He told me he'd been repeating the story of how when I'd tried to call him the other day, I'd gotten someone else with his name instead. He thought that was hysterical, while I just thought it was typical of my life.

We talked about a mutual friend who's madly in love and a much sunnier person as a result of it (he said it was the sex, but I like to be a tad more romantic than that) and agreed how nice it is to watch smitten types when they're together.

Part of the reason we first started hanging out together is our eating habits, so he recommended the chicken livers at Joe's Inn and I told him about the warm pate I'd had at the Berkeley last week (he'd never had it warmed, either).

We talked about what rebels we are for eating raw beef and cookie dough, although we're quite sure people have been ingesting both for centuries without a problem.

As we walked out four hours later, his final advice to me was to get busier on my personal life so I'll have more to share when we get together next (fact: married people always want to hear single people stories).

His only concern is that he likes me exactly the way I am now and if, like our friend, I get sunnier all of a sudden, he's not sure how he'll like me.

But he seems to be willing to take the risk to find out.