Friday's Mod Blow Up

It was back to the VMFA for me tonight, except this time to meet a favorite couple at Amuse, followed by the Friday Film series.

Given the holiday weekend, we met early to ensure getting seats at the bar, just in case.

It was a good thing, too, because tonight was bartender Tommy's last night before he moves over the the special events catering side of the restaurant.

I was sorry to hear that because his cheerful attitude and easy-going nature have always made him a big part of my enjoyment of Amuse.

No one else can say, "Well, hello darling. I was hoping you'd come see me," with a smile quite so wide and sound that sincere.

And it turns out that we were wise to be early because Amuse had done a record lunch today, serving more covers than any lunch since they've opened.

It must have been the place to entertain the fam and out-of-towners to impress and (groan) amuse.

We got our wine and discussed the situation in North Korea before looking at the menu.

First one of the servers, a friend, stopped by to chat with me (and show me his burst blood vessel discreetly hidden behind nerd glasses) and moments later, another friend who now lives in NYC, surprised me with his presence ("Meet me later at 27," he suggested).

When I finally got back to my couple date, I took some ribbing about knowing everyone (four people; big deal!) and we went ahead and ordered so we'd make our movie on time.

Luckily it was a three-minute walk away.

I had the cherrystone clams with Yukon potatoes in a saffron broth and used Amuse's excellent bread to sop up every drop of that golden liquid.

Tommy said he'd already guessed that that would be what I'd order given my fondness for the mussel and Tasso ham dish that is no longer on the menu.

This is why I'll miss having a bartender who knows my tastes so well.

Friends got the scallops with curry aioli and the cheese plate with Coppa, so they were as happy with their meal as I was.

Before we knew it, the time had come to get mod.

Tonight's feature was the provocative 1966 film "Blow Up" about a photographer in swinging London who accidentally photographs a murderer, pulling him out of his self-indulgent and self-centered world.

It didn't, however, stop him from having a fun fight with two wanna-be models who naturally ended up nude, squealing in delight and with their long hair flying.

Ah, the swinging sixties.

Before the film WCVE's jazz DJ Peter Solomon and I had talked for a bit; as he's pointed out on many occasions, we turn up at a lot of the same events.

This time, however, he was the speaker before the movie.

The soundtrack was by a 26-year old Herbie Hancock and Solomon was speaking to this topic.

As he pointed out, Hancock's music was only used in the service of the film, like when a record was put on, so it isn't considered terribly representative of the genius of a man who'd just come off five years of being in Miles Davis' band.

In fact, "Blow Up" was almost a silent film with long periods with no dialog and very little music.

It was striking for how often there was only ambient sound, if any sound at all. I can't imagine that absence of sound being done today, given the short attention span of a typical American audience.

"Blow Up" was a clear exploration of mid-century alienation and detachment, with little to no human emotion as part of everyday life.

Modern man losing out to progress and technology, if you will.

In the pre-film lecture, we heard that the director Michelangelo Antonioni didn't even think about his audience when making the film.

His expectation was that the (1966) audience would meet him half way, and based on him winning the Grand Prix at Cannes, he must have been right.

Like any film of another era, I most enjoyed the period details.

Girls were called "birds" and wore geometric minis with colorful tights (hey, wait a minute...).

The Yardbirds played in a basement club to a blase crowd and Jeff Beck smashed his guitar.

Everyone smoked pot at very smokey parties.

All the birds were bra-less.

It was the 60s, after all.

After my turn as an impromptu photographer at last night's party, I was able to pick up some handy tips from the film about getting more out of my subjects next time.

Maybe I'll take a cue from the photographer in "Blow Up" and get them on the floor and straddle them while saying suggestive things.

My guess is they'll be laughing so hard at me that I'm bound to get pictures worth blowing up all over Facebook.

That or no one will ever let me touch their camera again.

Oh, well.

Everything once.

Stopping to Smell the Flowers

Fine Arts and Flowers made me do it. Despite months of methodically discovering the new VMFA gallery by gallery, today I think I ended up in every single one, at least for a short while. It was not what I had intended.

I'm embarrassed to say that it was my first time experiencing the Fine Arts & Flowers exhibit begun in 1987, modeled on the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston's "Art in Bloom" concept. But given the newly remodeled space, maybe there was a reason I waited until now to experience it.

The idea of creating a flower arrangement based on a work of art is an intriguing one. Sometimes the flowers reflected only the color scheme, other times it was the shape, the geometry or texture of the piece. In any case, it was a series of beautiful things to observe.

I could never begin to describe the artistry these floral designers brought to their interpretations; about the best I could do is try to share a few that captured my imagination, but it won't represent a fraction of the 76 designs I saw.

William Wetmore Story's Cleopatra sculpture reclines and the floral arrangement did the same, with the all-white flowers echoing the white marble. Entwined in the flowers was a snake, noticeable only on close inspection, but very much there.

Thomas Moran's Bridalveil Falls, Yosemite Valley was a literal interpretation of the painting. The triangular vase represented the crevice from which the white falls cascaded from above. The white flowers emerging from the vase were an exact evocation of the gushing water.

Henri Rousseau's Tropical Landscape: An American Indian Struggling with a Gorilla was perfectly depicted in a fantastical arrangement containing vivid Fauvist colors and fantastic-looking flowers. I feel sure Rousseau would have approved.

Not all of the floral arrangements were easily associated with the artwork from which they were derived. Sometimes it took some work to find the connection (the carrot in the beloved gold Large Leaping Hare) and other times it was impossible.

After viewing Maxfield Parrish's Little Sugar River at Noon, I struggled to see the relationship between the placid, almost photographic landscape and the colorful arrangement. A nearby couple apparently felt just as flummoxed.

"It's not just you," he said to me, his wife nodding. We talked about what we might be missing in the designer's floral interpretation of the painting. She mentioned that a ballot would have been a good idea for attendees. Allow visitors to pay $1 for a ballot and vote for the best job; let them pay $5 and vote for the poorest re-imagining. She may have been on to something.

At Martin Puryear's Untitled, a guy said to me, "This is like a scavenger hunt. It brings people into every gallery." True that, something I had not anticipated, since I'd been visiting the galleries so far in a logical pattern so as not to miss or rush through anything.

In addition to the 76 arrangements, there were any number of random arrangements scattered about simply for our enjoyment. A peacock near the elevator on the second floor was charming in her necklace, a massive elephant near the marble hall stood on a carpet of flowers.

And the intoxicating smell of roses and stargazer lilies was everywhere I turned. As beautiful and interpretive as the arrangements were, my favorite flowers are always the ones with the strongest scents, so there were moments when I just followed my nose.

I finished up my afternoon at Amuse, the only person at the bar and with the perennially pleasant company of bartender Tommy. The late afternoon sun is a thing of beauty in Amuse overlooking the sculpture garden; leaning back to enjoy it, I began with the Pontes Rose.

Tommy has been my genial host on my every visit to Amuse and he is delightful. We discussed the Folk Fest (he'd regretfully missed the 2 Street Festival), his talent for making fried chicken and both our plans for tonight.

I asked for a recommendation for a nibble and once again he steered me right. The curried lentil croquettes with tzatziki and harrissa were outstanding, sauced cool and hot, and with perfectly cooked lentils. I couldn't have asked for a better close to my afternoon at the museum.

Except, perhaps, to stop and inhale deeply at each of the floral arrangements I passed on the way out.

Surely smelling something so wonderful means that anything is possible. Good things, I mean.