You know I do it for the art.
Feel free to argue the point with me, but the fact is, Richmond is underserved by public art. The real issue here is how it's possible we can have this public art school that's won accolades from all over and still be a city deficient in outdoor art.
But tonight the recently-formed Public Arts Commission convened a public meeting so I showed up to share my feelings.
Actually, lots of people showed up to sit at the map-covered tables, clearly far more than the commission was anticipating since a few tables had no maps and some people wound up sitting along the walls, not even within reach of a map.
The good news is that Richmond requires that all capital projects set aside 1% of their budget for the public art fund., so there's no reason to think our new commission isn't going to get the public art ball rolling a bit more earnestly than in the past.
We began with slides of public art, moving through the different kinds: iconic (the "Cloudgate" bean in Chicago), memorials (St. Louis arch), functional ("Flying carpet," a topographical carpet in the Sacramento airport), integrated (Austria's Muir Island Bridge, a man-made metal island with two bridges linking it to land), interactive ("Crown Fountain" in Chicago) and temporary ("Park-cycles" in San Francisco).
I admit I've only seen the two in Chicago, although maybe "Park-cycles" is in my near future.
A lively group discussion allowed people to share their most memorable public spaces, while discussion of why Richmond is unique devolved into one-upmanship with people trying to show off their knowledge of Richmond minutiae (one woman bragged about our Class 5 rapids, which we don't even have).
I had a proud moment when someone mentioned Jackson Ward as one of our best features. Yes, sir, it is.
More enjoyable and satisfying was getting to put stickers on those giant maps of where we'd like to see public art. At my table, stickers landed on Manchester, the Jeff Davis corridor and Chamberlayne north of Broad, places such as Barton Heights and Highland Park.
Hell, I put stickers over by Shockoe Hill cemetery and Hospital Street. Talk about an area that could benefit from some beautification. One woman put a sticker on Libby Hill, a place I feel already gets plenty o' love and already has public art. I left soon after.
I got home just as a friend was dropping off a book for me, the beautifully titled, "Everybody Was So Young" by Amanda Vaill, a book she thinks I'll enjoy as much as she did. I intend to find out so we can discuss it over absinthe sometime soon.
Despite having seen music Saturday and Sunday nights, I was still feeling a musical deficit, so I told her I was off to Gallery 5 for three bands. Her response? "Of course you are."
The door guy greeted me with a grin and a question. Had I used my gift certificate to Max's yet, the one I'd won at bingo? Nope. Was I coming to bingo tomorrow? Yep.
It was a small crowd, even for a Tuesday night, and as usual, the punctual were punished and the tardy rewarded with a later start to accommodate them. Luckily, the people-watching was good to pass the time.
Up first was We Never, a young-looking band, and the lead singer's parents were in the crowd, meaning that when he took a big swig of beer and followed it with a massive burp, Mom yelled, "Nice!" to correct him.
"Get outta here, Mom!" he called from the stage, trying to salvage a little dignity. Some Moms just aren't cut out for rock and roll. Their brief set ranged from low-key acoustic to a honky tonk barn burner and, yes, when it ended Mom complained loudly that it had been too short.
Overheard during the break: "She loves a good cat video. There's nothing better for her than that."
Brooklyn duo Shana Falana was next and I felt owed them. Although I'd gone to their May show at Balliceaux, their set had inexplicably begun early and I'd missed some of it. Tonight I wanted a full dose of their trippy dreamgaze sound and groovy light show.
Cosmic, man.
With guitar, drums, a bass backing track and lots of reverb, they achieved woozy psychedelic status from the first moment Shana opened her mouth to sing. Even the talkers in the crowd shut up once they realized they were hearing something pretty terrific.
After their set, I was joined by a music-loving couple who were drawn to me by the enticing scent of the clementine I was eating (hey, sometimes a person needs a show snack). Although I've known them for about five years, I knew nothing about their history and set out to correct that.
What a great story! Became platonic roommates 25 years ago and got married five years ago on the anniversary of her asking him if he thought he might ever want to marry her.
My question was why, after ten years together, had she posed such a question? He looked at me, looked at her and admitted that even he didn't know the answer to that one. Answer: She'd gotten a toy ring that day and it got her thinking that he was just the kind of person she'd want to marry someday.
The rest, as they say, is history. Two art kids meet at SCAD, go on a date to see Peter Murphy and live happily ever after.
About then Recluse Raccoon took the stage, but only to tease us with a couple of instrumental songs. The singer had no voice, so Blanks joined them onstage and as lead singer Jessica put it, "We're gonna swallow them," making for a quintet: two guitars, drums, bass and a lovely cello.
Their set was brief - Jessica had been drinking coffee when I arrived, admitting she was seriously tired - but we got a couple of gems out of them, songs such as "Tidal Wave" ("This is more for them than for you," she told us, gesturing at the band) and "Fishing in the Dark."
Ah, yes, I felt so much better.
Some women seek out cat videos and some of us need nothing more than a few hours of live music. There's nothing better for this her than that.
Showing posts with label science museum of va. Show all posts
Showing posts with label science museum of va. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Monday, December 31, 2012
Music to My Ears
If ever there was a testament to the motivational power of music, I saw it today.
Ostensibly, I went to the Science Museum to see the exhibit, "Guitar: The Instrument That Rocked the World."
After all, it's closing on Sunday and what kind of music lover would I be if it left before I saw it?
Exactly.
But they've been scheduling guitarists to play in conjunction with the show and I wanted to time my visit just right.
Meaning I wanted to hear George Dennehy play today, so I found a seat on the floor in front of the stage just before he started.
For the unprepared in the audience, his playing had to be a shock.
George was born without arms and plays the guitar with his feet.
I know, right? How awesome do you suppose that was to see?
He played with his brother on drums, observing that,"We haven't played together since school orchestra and that doesn't really count."
He had a great sense of humor ("Ever put on a capo with your feet?" he asked us rhetorically) in addition to the can-do attitude that had to have shaped his life as a musician.
Besides having a fine voice, he also wrote some of his own material (This is a song I wrote a few weeks ago. I'll go ahead and give it a try").
But we also heard covers - Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," Lifehouse's "You and Me" and Howie Day's "Collide," each pitch perfect.
But what you have to imagine is that while he's singing, he's also playing the guitar with his feet.
He admitted to being right-footed, but he did the picking with his right foot and the strumming with his left.
Watching him play was riveting, especially seeing his ability to lift individual toes to change chords.
He said he practiced an hour or two a day, but even so it was amazing to watch so much skill coming from a part of the body most of us have limited control over.
One highlight was an improvised piece the two brothers did together (saying, "We're going to play off each other") after George said he wanted to rest his voice for a minute.
By the time the set ended and he took questions, I was greatly surprised to hear that he'd only been performing out for four or five months.
But not quite as surprised as I was to learn that he also played cello and piano.
Clearly you can't keep a musical talent down.
And then there was the guitar exhibit itself.
As a non-musician (and die-hard music lover) of the highest order, the exhibit was like one huge music lesson for me.
The sixty guitars on display represented way more guitar history than I could possibly take in, hard as I tried.
So I just took in what I could Karen-style.
Like the ornately-decorated Baroque guitar from the 1600-1700s, a true thing of beauty.
Honestly, I'd been unprepared for the array of old instruments like lutes, balalaikas and even a harp guitar.
I could appreciate the duality of the Ovation Breadwinner, made between 1972 and '76 and used by both Robert Smith of the Cure and (wait for it) David Cassidy of the Partridge Family.
Now there's a guitar with range.
Of course there had to be an air guitar, which, as you might suppose, looked like nothing.
I got a kick out of the Silvertone amp in case, a Sears product that sold for $67.95 (and even $49.95 on sale!) and provided many musicians with their first guitar (and amp).
And by "many musicians," I mean people like Hendrix and Dylan.
Besides guitars, there were also large-format photographs of musicians playing, although I found the pictures a bit myopic.
The only female guitarist shown was Chrissie Hynde, a personal favorite, but certainly not the only woman worthy of being included in the show.
There were also screens showing key guitarists performing and I'd have to say seeing Django Reinhardt play circa 1939 was way cool.
That suave mustache, the two-finger technique, it was a revelation seeing him after years of only hearing his music.
But then the whole afternoon had been kind of a revelation.
As much as I go out for live music, as incessantly as I play recorded music at home and in the car, as much as I can talk music all day and night long, I have no real musical comprehension.
And I'm not saying I got any from the guitar exhibit, but I did get a whole lot of enjoyment on many levels.
But best of all, I got to see a talented musician demonstrate that if you want to make music badly enough, you can.
Way to rock my afternoon, George.
Ostensibly, I went to the Science Museum to see the exhibit, "Guitar: The Instrument That Rocked the World."
After all, it's closing on Sunday and what kind of music lover would I be if it left before I saw it?
Exactly.
But they've been scheduling guitarists to play in conjunction with the show and I wanted to time my visit just right.
Meaning I wanted to hear George Dennehy play today, so I found a seat on the floor in front of the stage just before he started.
For the unprepared in the audience, his playing had to be a shock.
George was born without arms and plays the guitar with his feet.
I know, right? How awesome do you suppose that was to see?
He played with his brother on drums, observing that,"We haven't played together since school orchestra and that doesn't really count."
He had a great sense of humor ("Ever put on a capo with your feet?" he asked us rhetorically) in addition to the can-do attitude that had to have shaped his life as a musician.
Besides having a fine voice, he also wrote some of his own material (This is a song I wrote a few weeks ago. I'll go ahead and give it a try").
But we also heard covers - Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah," Lifehouse's "You and Me" and Howie Day's "Collide," each pitch perfect.
But what you have to imagine is that while he's singing, he's also playing the guitar with his feet.
He admitted to being right-footed, but he did the picking with his right foot and the strumming with his left.
Watching him play was riveting, especially seeing his ability to lift individual toes to change chords.
He said he practiced an hour or two a day, but even so it was amazing to watch so much skill coming from a part of the body most of us have limited control over.
One highlight was an improvised piece the two brothers did together (saying, "We're going to play off each other") after George said he wanted to rest his voice for a minute.
By the time the set ended and he took questions, I was greatly surprised to hear that he'd only been performing out for four or five months.
But not quite as surprised as I was to learn that he also played cello and piano.
Clearly you can't keep a musical talent down.
And then there was the guitar exhibit itself.
As a non-musician (and die-hard music lover) of the highest order, the exhibit was like one huge music lesson for me.
The sixty guitars on display represented way more guitar history than I could possibly take in, hard as I tried.
So I just took in what I could Karen-style.
Like the ornately-decorated Baroque guitar from the 1600-1700s, a true thing of beauty.
Honestly, I'd been unprepared for the array of old instruments like lutes, balalaikas and even a harp guitar.
I could appreciate the duality of the Ovation Breadwinner, made between 1972 and '76 and used by both Robert Smith of the Cure and (wait for it) David Cassidy of the Partridge Family.
Now there's a guitar with range.
Of course there had to be an air guitar, which, as you might suppose, looked like nothing.
I got a kick out of the Silvertone amp in case, a Sears product that sold for $67.95 (and even $49.95 on sale!) and provided many musicians with their first guitar (and amp).
And by "many musicians," I mean people like Hendrix and Dylan.
Besides guitars, there were also large-format photographs of musicians playing, although I found the pictures a bit myopic.
The only female guitarist shown was Chrissie Hynde, a personal favorite, but certainly not the only woman worthy of being included in the show.
There were also screens showing key guitarists performing and I'd have to say seeing Django Reinhardt play circa 1939 was way cool.
That suave mustache, the two-finger technique, it was a revelation seeing him after years of only hearing his music.
But then the whole afternoon had been kind of a revelation.
As much as I go out for live music, as incessantly as I play recorded music at home and in the car, as much as I can talk music all day and night long, I have no real musical comprehension.
And I'm not saying I got any from the guitar exhibit, but I did get a whole lot of enjoyment on many levels.
But best of all, I got to see a talented musician demonstrate that if you want to make music badly enough, you can.
Way to rock my afternoon, George.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Give Me Long Exposure
What I knew about pinhole cameras could fit on the head of a pin. Corny, but true.
So when the Science Museum offered a lunchtime lecture called "A Peek into Pinhole Photography," I invited a photographer friend to join me for a little midday education.
Speaking was James Draper, a local pinhole enthusiast who took up the art back in the 70s.
Once he explained to us pinhole morons that it was as simple as using a pinhole instead of a lens, I began to think that I could understand the lecture.
Draper talked about why pinhole photography spoke to him: that it offers soft focus or amazing depth of field, that it's a return to the past in a digital age and that it arouses people's curiosity.
Rarely, he said, is he out with one of his many, many cameras that people don't approach him, inquisitive about what he's using and doing.
In fact, that's how he ended up doing the lecture; a Science Museum employee noticed him out by the kugel with a box for hours on end (an exposure runs thirty seconds to ten minutes) and went out to see what was up.
His enthusiasm for shooting pictures was charmingly enthusiastic. "For me," he said, "All of Richmond is a studio. There's always something to shoot."
For visual aids, he'd brought a half dozen cameras he'd made of various sizes for different format films and of an array of materials, including a paper camera.
I was surprised to learn that oatmeal boxes make excellent pinhole cameras, as do any containers with a tight-fitting lid. Shoe boxes, not so much.
He'd made one out of an artist's wooden supply box, told of a colleague who'd made one from a briefcase and even mentioned one made of a Volkswagen van.
Later my friend told me that there's a VW pinhole right here in Richmond. Now I need to see it.
The official largest pinhole camera, Draper said, is constructed out of an old jet hanger, two stories high and four wide.
Even with my new-found pinhole knowledge, I couldn't get my head around that one.
But I don't need to, either. For a supremely non-scientific type like me, it's enough that I now know that I could make a pinhole camera from one of my old oatmeal boxes.
It's not likely to happen, but it could be terrific conversational fodder with someone someday.
And if science isn't all about someone, someday, what the hell is it about?
So when the Science Museum offered a lunchtime lecture called "A Peek into Pinhole Photography," I invited a photographer friend to join me for a little midday education.
Speaking was James Draper, a local pinhole enthusiast who took up the art back in the 70s.
Once he explained to us pinhole morons that it was as simple as using a pinhole instead of a lens, I began to think that I could understand the lecture.
Draper talked about why pinhole photography spoke to him: that it offers soft focus or amazing depth of field, that it's a return to the past in a digital age and that it arouses people's curiosity.
Rarely, he said, is he out with one of his many, many cameras that people don't approach him, inquisitive about what he's using and doing.
In fact, that's how he ended up doing the lecture; a Science Museum employee noticed him out by the kugel with a box for hours on end (an exposure runs thirty seconds to ten minutes) and went out to see what was up.
His enthusiasm for shooting pictures was charmingly enthusiastic. "For me," he said, "All of Richmond is a studio. There's always something to shoot."
For visual aids, he'd brought a half dozen cameras he'd made of various sizes for different format films and of an array of materials, including a paper camera.
I was surprised to learn that oatmeal boxes make excellent pinhole cameras, as do any containers with a tight-fitting lid. Shoe boxes, not so much.
He'd made one out of an artist's wooden supply box, told of a colleague who'd made one from a briefcase and even mentioned one made of a Volkswagen van.
Later my friend told me that there's a VW pinhole right here in Richmond. Now I need to see it.
The official largest pinhole camera, Draper said, is constructed out of an old jet hanger, two stories high and four wide.
Even with my new-found pinhole knowledge, I couldn't get my head around that one.
But I don't need to, either. For a supremely non-scientific type like me, it's enough that I now know that I could make a pinhole camera from one of my old oatmeal boxes.
It's not likely to happen, but it could be terrific conversational fodder with someone someday.
And if science isn't all about someone, someday, what the hell is it about?
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Lunch Lecture: Talk Grouse, Think Dog
If you go to a science lecture, you will be given wine. At least that's how it worked out today the Science Museum's Lunch Break Science lecture.
Speaking on the science of wine were Jason Tesauro, Sommelier and Marketing Director at Barboursville Vineyards and Luca Paschina, winemaker of same. I took a seat in the front row and the guy nearest me immediately struck up a conversation about Chateau Morrisette, a winery I've never visited.
He recommended CM wines, specifying vintages, told me about the winery dogs and warned me about the scenic overlook's precipice, saying, "You'll feel like you're at the edge of the earth."
A person could be forgiven for thinking that I have "Talk to me" tattooed on my forehead (and even if I did it would be under my bangs) given the speed with which I end up talking to strangers sometimes.
Jason led the charge with a talk about using new technology in winemaking including NDVI (normalized difference vegetation index, a technique based on GPS), ground penetration radar (peeking into the earth for clues rather than waiting for centuries to figure it out) and sap flow technology (how thirsty is the plant really?). It was a lot of science for the non-scientific among us.
I had to laugh when he qualified all his technology talk by insisting that it wasn't for the purpose of creating 'Frankenwine' because, "You can use all these tools and still produce lousy wine." It was reassuring to hear that even the most sophisticated technology will never replace boots on the ground.
Luca's talk was an acknowledgement that technology has its place, but history has proven that the old ways have worked for centuries. He cited France as a place that has collected so much wine-making experience that no technology could compete with what has been gleaned by mere mortals.
I'd met Luca before, but was reminded today why he's such an interesting guy. Like me, he doesn't have a TV but unlike me. he goes grouse-hunting. Somehow hearing that made me think of hot dogs and I made a snap decision to have one after the lesson was over (grouse, hot dogs, I can't explain it).
I especially related to his warning to be careful about how we process scientific fact and technology; he said it's the responsibility of winemakers to decide how much to use. Some is worthy, some is not.
When he finished, he suggested that the floor be opened for specific questions and Jason suggested that after that they'd be open for specific wine drinking.
He stood and asked how many in the room had been to a Virginia winery and fully three quarters of the audience raised their hands. Gesturing to Luca, he said, "Preacher, choir." True that.
During our practicum to reinforce the lessons of the lecture, they poured two quintessential Virginia grapes, Viognier and Cabernet Franc for our sipping pleasure. Most attendees went with one or the other but I saw no need to limit my learning experience.
As we were milling about with our wine cup(s), apropos of nothing, my seatmate asked if I'd heard about the new hot dog place in the West End.
I'm not quite sure how he'd managed to read my mind, but I told him that I hadn't but was already planning on lunch at City Dogs after this. Turns out he didn't even know about the Fan location, so I was able to enlighten him before heading directly there.
One of the distinguishing features of City Dogs is how male-dominated its customer base always is, but when I walked in today, there were two other female customers. I was amazed.
After ordering my Tennessee Dog (mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw), I acknowledged as much to my server, the servers usually being the only other females in the place.
"I know, we wonder about that every day," she said. She thought women might worry about calories, although as she pointed out, the soy dog is only 60 calories ("Yea, but that's not a real hot dog," I said and she agreed wholeheartedly).
Since we're both big hot dog lovers (her favorite is the Santa Fe Dog with salsa, cheese, jalapenos, guacamole and tortilla chips), we couldn't quite get our heads around how women could pass up the pleasures of a good dog.
Could be that neither of us is a very good representation of our sex. Now that's a real possibility, at least for me.
And I'm okay with that as long as it means I get to keep inhaling a hot dog or two when the mood strikes. You know, like when someone mentions grouse hunting.
Speaking on the science of wine were Jason Tesauro, Sommelier and Marketing Director at Barboursville Vineyards and Luca Paschina, winemaker of same. I took a seat in the front row and the guy nearest me immediately struck up a conversation about Chateau Morrisette, a winery I've never visited.
He recommended CM wines, specifying vintages, told me about the winery dogs and warned me about the scenic overlook's precipice, saying, "You'll feel like you're at the edge of the earth."
A person could be forgiven for thinking that I have "Talk to me" tattooed on my forehead (and even if I did it would be under my bangs) given the speed with which I end up talking to strangers sometimes.
Jason led the charge with a talk about using new technology in winemaking including NDVI (normalized difference vegetation index, a technique based on GPS), ground penetration radar (peeking into the earth for clues rather than waiting for centuries to figure it out) and sap flow technology (how thirsty is the plant really?). It was a lot of science for the non-scientific among us.
I had to laugh when he qualified all his technology talk by insisting that it wasn't for the purpose of creating 'Frankenwine' because, "You can use all these tools and still produce lousy wine." It was reassuring to hear that even the most sophisticated technology will never replace boots on the ground.
Luca's talk was an acknowledgement that technology has its place, but history has proven that the old ways have worked for centuries. He cited France as a place that has collected so much wine-making experience that no technology could compete with what has been gleaned by mere mortals.
I'd met Luca before, but was reminded today why he's such an interesting guy. Like me, he doesn't have a TV but unlike me. he goes grouse-hunting. Somehow hearing that made me think of hot dogs and I made a snap decision to have one after the lesson was over (grouse, hot dogs, I can't explain it).
I especially related to his warning to be careful about how we process scientific fact and technology; he said it's the responsibility of winemakers to decide how much to use. Some is worthy, some is not.
When he finished, he suggested that the floor be opened for specific questions and Jason suggested that after that they'd be open for specific wine drinking.
He stood and asked how many in the room had been to a Virginia winery and fully three quarters of the audience raised their hands. Gesturing to Luca, he said, "Preacher, choir." True that.
During our practicum to reinforce the lessons of the lecture, they poured two quintessential Virginia grapes, Viognier and Cabernet Franc for our sipping pleasure. Most attendees went with one or the other but I saw no need to limit my learning experience.
As we were milling about with our wine cup(s), apropos of nothing, my seatmate asked if I'd heard about the new hot dog place in the West End.
I'm not quite sure how he'd managed to read my mind, but I told him that I hadn't but was already planning on lunch at City Dogs after this. Turns out he didn't even know about the Fan location, so I was able to enlighten him before heading directly there.
One of the distinguishing features of City Dogs is how male-dominated its customer base always is, but when I walked in today, there were two other female customers. I was amazed.
After ordering my Tennessee Dog (mustard, onions, chili and cole slaw), I acknowledged as much to my server, the servers usually being the only other females in the place.
"I know, we wonder about that every day," she said. She thought women might worry about calories, although as she pointed out, the soy dog is only 60 calories ("Yea, but that's not a real hot dog," I said and she agreed wholeheartedly).
Since we're both big hot dog lovers (her favorite is the Santa Fe Dog with salsa, cheese, jalapenos, guacamole and tortilla chips), we couldn't quite get our heads around how women could pass up the pleasures of a good dog.
Could be that neither of us is a very good representation of our sex. Now that's a real possibility, at least for me.
And I'm okay with that as long as it means I get to keep inhaling a hot dog or two when the mood strikes. You know, like when someone mentions grouse hunting.
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