I don't know if Art on Wheels did it with me in mind, but it's working out awfully well for me.
Last Tuesday they launched their summer project, "Find Art Doors," a group of 40 salvaged doors that were then painted by local artists and planted in the ground around town to be discovered.
So far, I've come across five, all by well-know and talented artists: Mickael Broth (the guy who did the looming wizard mural at the GRTC depot), Ed Trask (with his signature bird), Jackson Ward native Sir James Thornhill (right on Clay Street, so mere blocks from my house!), Noah Scalin (but of course there's a skull on it) and today's find, Chris Milk (in Oregon Hill, natch, and with his trademark bicycles).
Every time I come upon one, I'm surprised and delighted. I have no intention of looking at a map of where they all are because I want to feel like I stumble on them in a happy accident.
Because I set out to find none of them, I have done exactly what Art on Wheels wants: I'm discovering these works of art on old doors while enjoying my city. With 35 left, I've got some discovering to do, but also plenty of summer to do it in.
I came upon the one today as I was returning from my walk over to Belle Isle, a glorious day to do so given the 77 degree temperatures, low humidity and light breeze.
It was while I was sitting on a sunny rock there, my legs and feet submerged in the burbling water near a rapid, the back of my shorts getting rapidly soaked, that I hear a voice behind me.
"Can we take your picture and ask you a few questions?" a girl standing next to a guy with an actual camera (not cell phone) inquires. "It's for a project for school."
Sure thing.
"What did you have for breakfast?" she asks as the guy begins snapping. Oatmeal with fresh blueberries I tell her. "Mmm, that sounds delicious!" she enthuses. Given that it's high blueberry season, I assure her it was.
"Where do you live?" I tell her Jackson Ward and ask where she lives, Gesturing with her arm in a sweeping gesture, she says she lives everywhere. Not sure how to respond, I tell her she's lucky then.
"You look very happy," she states, which is not a question at all. Splashing my feet in the water, I ask her who wouldn't be happy sitting by the river on a day so gorgeous.
Smiling, she makes my day. "You're going to be my favorite picture."
She's going to be my favorite interviewer.
Showing posts with label noah scalin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label noah scalin. Show all posts
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Famously Sick, Man
Martha Stewart and skulls: much funnier than you'd have guessed.
I only know that because I was front row center at Gallery 5 for Richmond Comedy Coalition's "Richmond Famous," a night where a well-known Richmonder puts himself at the mercy of our best local improv troupe.
Tonight's sacrificial lamb was artist and activist Noah Scalin, he of the "Skull-a-Day" project.
The way I figured it, anyone who devoted a year of his life to skulls was bound to have some good stories to share. And all it takes is one or two good ones for RCC to skewer them in ways both related and unrelated.
His story of going on the Martha Stewart show (never correct Martha if she mispronounces your name, he was told) to demonstrate his peanut butter and jelly skulls yielded hilarious takes on the queen of all things domestic.
When she wasn't knitting a sweater for the goat she planned to sacrifice that evening, she was stealing the souls from live children.
Noah told a story about being a balloon pilot in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and how tough it was to maneuver huge balloons with drunk people holding the attached strings. That resulted in a sketch about applicants auditioning for a kids' birthday party. Each was supposed to do an imitation and, one by one, they lined up and showed what they could do.
Matthew McConaughey, Seth Rogan, Jack Nicholson. They all got the part.
Next up, it's a dark-haired, bearded comedian's turn and he's asked who he imitates. "Noah Scalin," he says casually. He got the part.
Another sketch about dating had the guy being asked why on earth he was going out with a girl named Sarah (with an "h" so people took her seriously). The Lothario justified it in a heartbeat. "Hey, Sara's got a name."
Because, for some people, all it takes is a name.
The guest of honor told the story of being mistaken for one of the Beastie Boys, saying, "I've been bleaching my hair white since before Eminem."
Another story of Noah visiting a museum in Philly that offered him slices of diseased human brains in acrylic with which to make skulls led to a sketch about the Mutter Museum and its overly-zealous caretaker.
There was a dim-witted gay couple planning their wedding who concluded that instead of strewing flower petals, they'd scatter bike pedals. "Sick, man!" the one said to his beloved. Pause. Meaningful look.
"I'm so glad we waited," one groom says to the other apropos of nothing and entirely sincerely. We were rolling on the floor laughing at this incongruous pair.
The entire night was laugh out loud funny. Someone would kick the floor in frustration and a screaming cat sound was heard from someone else. A sketch about a doomed pilot named Snoopy and his co-pilot Garfield caused another comedian to start singing "Danger Zone" a la "Top Gun."
By the end of the evening, Noah's life had been properly exposed and shredded. Mission accomplished.
We couldn't stand to laugh anymore, so we switched gears to music and Balliceaux's evening of Brazilica, a quarterly evening of deep Latin and Afro sounds done by WRIR's Mikemetic Kemetic.
To my great delight, there was also a drummer/percussionist on stage who worked every song and added an extra intensity to what we were hearing. Which was dance music, full-on dance music.
I love the sound of hands on skins.
It was an evening of serious grooves and the crowd responded by first moving in place, then dancing and eventually full-on grinding. At one point a friend who works at Balliceaux walked up to me and leaned over as if sharing a deep, dark secret.
"I love this music!" he grinned.
What's not to love? If global dance floor inspirations aren't your thing, you may want to check your pulse. Especially on a Friday. Mine had been racing madly since all the raunchy humor at G5 and now with those kinds of beats going, I was in no danger (zone) of flat lining.
Humor and music, practically my lifeblood.
Practically.
I only know that because I was front row center at Gallery 5 for Richmond Comedy Coalition's "Richmond Famous," a night where a well-known Richmonder puts himself at the mercy of our best local improv troupe.
Tonight's sacrificial lamb was artist and activist Noah Scalin, he of the "Skull-a-Day" project.
The way I figured it, anyone who devoted a year of his life to skulls was bound to have some good stories to share. And all it takes is one or two good ones for RCC to skewer them in ways both related and unrelated.
His story of going on the Martha Stewart show (never correct Martha if she mispronounces your name, he was told) to demonstrate his peanut butter and jelly skulls yielded hilarious takes on the queen of all things domestic.
When she wasn't knitting a sweater for the goat she planned to sacrifice that evening, she was stealing the souls from live children.
Noah told a story about being a balloon pilot in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade and how tough it was to maneuver huge balloons with drunk people holding the attached strings. That resulted in a sketch about applicants auditioning for a kids' birthday party. Each was supposed to do an imitation and, one by one, they lined up and showed what they could do.
Matthew McConaughey, Seth Rogan, Jack Nicholson. They all got the part.
Next up, it's a dark-haired, bearded comedian's turn and he's asked who he imitates. "Noah Scalin," he says casually. He got the part.
Another sketch about dating had the guy being asked why on earth he was going out with a girl named Sarah (with an "h" so people took her seriously). The Lothario justified it in a heartbeat. "Hey, Sara's got a name."
Because, for some people, all it takes is a name.
The guest of honor told the story of being mistaken for one of the Beastie Boys, saying, "I've been bleaching my hair white since before Eminem."
Another story of Noah visiting a museum in Philly that offered him slices of diseased human brains in acrylic with which to make skulls led to a sketch about the Mutter Museum and its overly-zealous caretaker.
There was a dim-witted gay couple planning their wedding who concluded that instead of strewing flower petals, they'd scatter bike pedals. "Sick, man!" the one said to his beloved. Pause. Meaningful look.
"I'm so glad we waited," one groom says to the other apropos of nothing and entirely sincerely. We were rolling on the floor laughing at this incongruous pair.
The entire night was laugh out loud funny. Someone would kick the floor in frustration and a screaming cat sound was heard from someone else. A sketch about a doomed pilot named Snoopy and his co-pilot Garfield caused another comedian to start singing "Danger Zone" a la "Top Gun."
By the end of the evening, Noah's life had been properly exposed and shredded. Mission accomplished.
We couldn't stand to laugh anymore, so we switched gears to music and Balliceaux's evening of Brazilica, a quarterly evening of deep Latin and Afro sounds done by WRIR's Mikemetic Kemetic.
To my great delight, there was also a drummer/percussionist on stage who worked every song and added an extra intensity to what we were hearing. Which was dance music, full-on dance music.
I love the sound of hands on skins.
It was an evening of serious grooves and the crowd responded by first moving in place, then dancing and eventually full-on grinding. At one point a friend who works at Balliceaux walked up to me and leaned over as if sharing a deep, dark secret.
"I love this music!" he grinned.
What's not to love? If global dance floor inspirations aren't your thing, you may want to check your pulse. Especially on a Friday. Mine had been racing madly since all the raunchy humor at G5 and now with those kinds of beats going, I was in no danger (zone) of flat lining.
Humor and music, practically my lifeblood.
Practically.
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