Is Good Enough?

Well, I certainly didn't see that coming.

The stated game plan was to discuss our 2017 resolutions. But, like every other get-together I've had this week, it was more about re-establishing contact after two weeks of holiday interruption, and if there were unstated goals, well, no one was talking about that.

Deferring to me to come up with a game plan ("I haven't looked at what's happening this week. If you know about something good - you've had great suggestions before - I'm happy to let you select"), I shared what I'd intended to do before hearing from him: go to Susan Worsham's opening at Candela Gallery.

Just like that, we had a plan. I was standing in front of one of Susan's multi-layered and metaphoric photographs when I felt a presence next to me and the evening was off and running as we made our way through the crowded galleries to talk about each picture.

My attraction to Susan's work is all about the attitude. Even the name of the show - "By the Grace of God" - is a testament to her sunny disposition and willingness to stop every single time she sees the makings of a photograph in nature or life. Not later, not come back to it. Now.

Miss an opportunity and it may be missed for good.

Like me, she doesn't hesitate to approach strangers, ask questions and press until she gets the affirmative answer she wants, a strategy that works as well with friendships as art.

By the time we'd made the rounds discussing what attracted us about the work, it was time to claim our seats in the overflowing room for the artist's talk.

Susan is such a disarming speaker and she quickly charmed the room with stories of how she got photos, how nerdy she could be begging people to let her take their image and stressing just how few photography classes she took before setting off to document the beautiful moments in life.

Because that, quite simply, is her goal.

To a student or aspiring photographer of any age, she had to have been positively inspiring with her message of making the time and effort to shoot no matter how indolent or uninspired they might feel.

"Photography is the only thing that keeps me from being lazy," she insisted with a huge red-lipsticked smile on her face.

Suitably artfully inspired - not that I wasn't already constantly on the lookout for the beauty in life or as Pru likes to say, "You and your flippin' silver linings!" - we made our way to My Noodle & Bar, which was packed despite the cold weather.

I'd say scoring one of the tiki huts there as our lair for dinner counts as a good thing, while using both the curtain separating us from the next booth as well as hanging our coats on hooks next to us to create the proper level of privacy provided an ideal setting for the latest installment of our ongoing conversation.

And because our booth was in the direct line of the door and the masses of cold air that poured in every time it opened and, let's get real here, I am so not built for winter.

Since it was his first time, I was pleased at how much he enjoyed his My Noodle dish while I got my standard broccoli and chicken order from my favorite server, who didn't even let me get the words out before she parroted back the rest of my order in a familiar, sing song voice.

There's a lot to be said for being a regular and having people know you.

In some ways, that was the topic of our wide-ranging conversation as he shared his adventures down south and I mine out west and we dug deep into what we hope to accomplish in 2017. His to-do list is longer, but we also had some overlap in one category, which could make things interesting.

By the time we left there, we'd both dropped some surprising news, had our usual back and forth ribbing about why he always feels the need to remind me he can't stay out late and decided we needed to make one more stop anyway.

Graffiato's won the imaginary toss.

Whistlepig Rye ignited a lively conversation with our affable bartender, who was more than happy to discuss brown spirits and distinctive distillation methods with my friend while I took mental notes. A girl never knows when whiskey knowledge will come in handy.

By the time they'd reached a consensus on what my date would drink, he got his pour and the bartender headed up the bar to assist others. Several minutes later, he returned, looking stricken because he'd never so much as inquired what I might want.

Accompanying his sincere-sounding apology was an overly generous pour of Barboursville Rose, his solicitous attention to my water glass for the remainder of the night and, when I inquired about last call half pours, his willingness to accommodate both brown and pink.

Willingness was in the air as the nature of friendships was parsed, advice about the opposite sex was offered and new boundaries were tentatively approached. Forward progress seems to be the natural result of the best ongoing conversations.

Miss an opportunity and it may be missed for good.

Bittersweet and Solo

Familiar faces, different places.

To start, it was like a mini-artwalk, with Candela Gallery having an opening and artist's talk on this damp Friday evening.

The show, "Bittersweet on Bostwick Lane" featured work by photographer Susan Worsham, a name I didn't recognize, but a face I did.

I'd met her years ago at Zeus Gallery Cafe and we'd talked about photography; later, I'd seen her at photography shows and always enjoyed her positivity.

But until I saw her smiling face tonight, I hadn't made the connection.

The show comes from Susan's life experiences which include the deaths of her parents and her brother's suicide.

Interestingly enough, the works highlight beauty as much as decay and death.

And not all are photographs.

One called "Watercolor" is a collection of antique veterinary slides, with samples of things like rabbit tongue, eye of pig and human testicle included.

Others relate to her family's former neighbor Margaret, a former biology teacher, who was an integral part of her childhood.

Margaret's presence is felt throughout the exhibition, in her microscope and handmade bread doily, in a  large-scale photograph of her under Susan's mother's favorite camellia tree and in a piece of bread she baked which Susan let go moldy before photographing.

Even better, Susan recorded Margaret reminiscing and an hour-long recording of her memories and stories plays in Candela as you look at the photographs.

It's tempting to just sit down and listen to the wisdom of this wizened woman.

My vote for most disturbing photograph goes to "Snakes on My Childhood Bed," where a snake lounges next to a picture of Susan's mother on her wedding day.

It became even more meaningful when, during Susan's talk, she said that as a child, her mother had always assured her, "There's never going to be any snakes in your room."

Her mother couldn't have foreseen that a multiple-snake owner would eventually own the house or that Susan and her boyfriend would one day knock on that door and ask to see her childhood home.

On the other hand, clearly it provided inspiration for the artist.

Susan was an engaging speaker, sharing all kinds of stories about the idyllic beauty of her childhood on the UR campus and the sadness that came out of that lovely start in life.

Bittersweet it was.

Music followed with the RVA Solo show at For Instance Gallery, a place I'd never been.

But the faces I knew well.

A winding stair took me to the cozy gallery with art hung everywhere on the walls and three long windows fronting Cary Street downtown.

As things got set up, one of the musicians turned off the lights, leaving only a few colored bulbs from a lamp on and asked of the crowd which they preferred, dark or light.

I was the first to vote for dim, justifying the red, blue and yellow lamp lights as "groovy" and so the show went on sans overhead lighting.

It pays to be a big mouth sometimes.

Organizer Scott Clark soon stood up, announcing, "We're dedicated to starting shows on times and seven minutes late isn't too bad."

What followed was a succession of some of Richmond's best and brightest jazz musicians.

First trombonist Bryan Hooten played and since I'd never heard solo trombone, I was surprised to hear his sharp intakes of breath between blows.

He played an untitled piece, said, "Solo trombone is hard work,"took a big gulp of water and did an improvised number.

He then proceeded to empty his instrument.

"It's just condensed water," he grinned. "Contrary to popular belief, it's not spit, it's really just condensed water."

I believe him because I want to.

As he was playing a cello sonata he'd transcribed by his favorite composer, Gyorgy Ligeti, I couldn't help but admire the night view from the windows.

In each, a tree was foreground to a building across the street, all silhouetted against the misty gray sky as Bryan's trombone made beautiful noise.

Cameron Ralston and his bass were up second and he began with what is usually an exercise to warm up, but what he referred to as "D Plus."

His bow arced and jumped around creating noises I couldn't begin to see him make, but then I'm a musical idiot.

Finishing, he admitted, "That opens up all kinds of creative doors."

How could it not?

Next he did an original piece he'd written while on tour (with our own Matthew White) when he'd heard about the Connecticut shootings.

"I imagined it for piano and bass originally, but seeing as how I'm the only one up here, I'll do it myself."

It was an achingly beautiful piece and after finishing, he changed gears, saying, "Let's do something fun. This is an Ornette Coleman tune called "The Sphinx."

And it was fun, as evidenced by his twitching leg and even his right hand, which became a blur as he tore through the piece.

Drummer Scott Clark took center stage next, saying that he and Cameron had been talking for years about doing a solo show and it had taken this long to make it happen.

That it was finally happening was a fact for which every music-lover in the room was eternally grateful, I'm sure.

Scott mentioned that he'd been reading "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee" and writing off of the book and that it had become more meaningful as he'd toured parts of the country recently that the book had touched on.

"Seeing those places was profound. I don't know whether that will come through in my playing the drums, but just enjoy."

It did come through and I can't say how except that the improvised piece had a rhythmic urgency that played out in his handling of the brushes, mallets and bells.

Toward the end, he began reading a poem he had written about the Native American experience and it was truly a magical moment to hear him drumming and sharing his words simultaneously.

"And the drums relive what once was," he intoned beautifully.

At that moment, I felt privileged to be hearing his heartfelt playing and reading with the night sky behind him in this little second-floor gallery with only a handful of people.

Guitarist Scott Burton replaced the first Scott doing new solo material he was debuting.

As many times as I've seen Scott play in various incarnations, it may have also been the first time I'd ever heard him play an acoustic guitar.

We heard "Staircase" and "Interiors" before he said,"I'm going to play "I Believe" by a band called Tears for Fears."

His cover was exquisite and you could almost hear the people in the room holding their breath for every note.

Afterwards, he grinned and said, "Tears for Fears, yea!"

Yea, indeed.

Things got heavier for "Underwater," followed by "Scaffolding" and "The Lizard" and every time he locked into a groove, I noticed both Scott Clark and Cameron bobbing their heads in the front row.

And why not? I believe, right along with Tears for Fears.

I believe that Richmond is a place where talented musicians share their music in intimate galleries on misty winter nights.

Sculptors come. Music teachers come. Frenchmen come. And of course other musicians come.

But so should everyone who needs proof that this town has got it going on.

It may even make you believe.