The Girls Are Back --

Is There Going To Be Trouble?


Yes, billion-eyed audience, here they are again. Many of you long-time listeners already know the story. But, for those of you who don't: this image was taken, and not by me, at an exhibition opening several years ago at the vanished Three Miles Gallery and this space, and the adjacent one, is today the bustling Tarrant's Café.

Richmond's First Fridays Aftwalk begins its new season in earnest tomorrow evening. You can see it all in colour here. Here at the Blue Raccoon, these young women are emblematic of the social verve and creative energy -- a Dyonisian jumbalaya, well, not in the radical True Blood way -- that First Friday Richmond represents in ye olde Richmond Towne.

This pair of Richmond lovelies display the classic duality of Greek tragedy/comedy, and the predicament of existence, and how in general conditions are one or the other -- depending who you are and where your viewing booth is.

But is the representation of enjoyment that seems to unnerve some people. Or at least, after eight years, suddenly the civil administration here gives the appearance, anyway, of being shocked, shocked! to see art galleries on Broad Street, and droves of people trooping in and out of them. This, too, is reflected by the haranguing of corner preachers on milk crates with PA systems who are persuaded that wine and cheese are the gateway drugs to hell.

The fear and anxiety was portrayed in the current issue of the city's weekly tab.

As often happens, the comment train following the article is more illuminating - and for bad reasons -- than the article. Like a particularly bad morning on C-SPAN, the snipes and quips aren't so much directed at the issues raised but bent on grinding particular axes or slapping around artists, whom even in 2009 in Richmond are viewed with suspicion as potential subversives and condemned as useless drains. Never mind that without the arts schools and institutions devoted to them here that Richmond would just be another whistle stop on the way to Atlanta. I'm beyond fed up with people who a) Don't read articles all the way through and b) Comment with knee-jerk responses to a headline, picture or captions. This is why we as a civilization in decline: lack both attention and discipline. So there, corner preacher, stick that up your righteous indignation.

And so there are belligerent, bullet-headed nihilist hipsters who'll profusely and obscenely decry Richmond as some kind of portal to, I don't know, boredom or hell or hellish boredom but that's because they insist on wanting Richmond to be New York or L.A., or any other place that it is not. Let Richmond be Richmond, and if you're not willing to roll up your sleeves, expose your baroquely tatted forearms and do something constructive, then why are you here anyway? In a way, these types are just as annoying as that street corner preacher who is just there because he likes to hear himself preach or the suburbanites who, from the safe distance of the cul-de-sac, toss their grenades of ignorance and fear. And their shrapnel unfortunately sticks in all of us.

Which gets me to the presence of uniformed officialdom that was meandering among the galleries during August's First Friday, with their clipboards, clickable pens and curious expressions. I understand the need to monitor safety regulations for buildings, without question.

However, there is a way to do things. Can we not go to the spaces and look at them before they are packed with people to see about proper egress and lighted exits and such? You do want to see them under the times of most stress, too -- and that doesn't make city officials bad guys, but, there should be a better, less invasive way.

So. I guess we'll see.

Some of the highlights I intend to hit:

Little Creatures, a 1708 Gallery satellite exhibit at the historic Linden Row Inn and curated by my personal Grand Louvre, Amie Oliver. The show features sculpture, painting, drawing and photography inspired by animals and the natural world.

For more information on the artists please visit the links below:

Joan Gaustad:
http://www.adagallery.com/Joan_Gaustad.html

Leah Jacobson:
http://www.leahjacobson.com/

Rob McAdams:
http://www.supporttrike.com

Jamie Pocklington:
http://www.jpock.com

Gordon Stettinius:
http://www.eyecaramba.com

Rob Tarbell:
http://robtarbell.com

Paul Teeples:
http://1708gallery.blogspot.com

Another show I've quite desirous of seeing is Thomas van Auken's exhibition, sponsored by Art 180, at the Schindler Satellite Gallery at 8 W. Broad.

I snagged this image from van Auken's Facebook. I enjoy his confident lines and Germanic textures. Figurative work has had its ups and downs in terms of general acceptance these days. VCU tends toward the Abstract-Expressionsits, and around the country, drawing itself isn't considered as important.

So it's great to see somebody who somehow not only learned to draw but paints, too, and the overall effects are pleasing and even sometimes a bit startling.

I'll be buzzing into Ghostprint, Gallery5, and Metro Space Gallery, too.


I'll see you on Broad or nearby, on Friday.

We shall return to Phil Gotz's tour of Richmond during the weekend.

Illumination of Broad Street
Art and Imagination Reclaim Downtown


The parade of Wearable Art down Broad Street, as recorded by photographer Jay Paul.
This is model Rickita McKinty with designer Kevin Blow in his design, "Untitled: Optica." The outfit includes 33 eyes with lights in their pupils and ostrich feathers.

I haven't seen much pop up blog-wise or in the regular media about what was a historic event--or rather, one of a series of them this past year on Broad--more discussion of Rodney Monroe and the rain. Well, that's too bad. Even Sissy Spacek was there.

My bias is obvious, because I emceed the Wearable Art component of the evening, (with at times less grace than I would've wished), but, apparently this caused no untoward distress. At least I hope so.

Yes, there was rain in the early hours but it cleared off and during the 9:00 to 11:00 stretch the street filled up, the video and audio projections on the walls went on, the Hot 8 Brass played and a man-powered contraption designed to project the spirit into the sky lumbered around. Every gallery was open and some very fine art on display-and will remain so for the rest of the month, and some longer--and would be a credit to any other city, of a greater population.

I stood at the center stage with Jake Crocker at one point when we took in the fanning search lights--for once not indicating the location of a strip bar--the glowing columns of light, the bright pools of activity along the street, the whirling psychedelic patterns on the trees, the great knots of crowds--and he said, "This is like some huge, outdoor Vegas club."

For a massive, first-time event, held when weather conditions threatened to wash out the whole production, InLight Richmond went well as we might've expected.

There's many thoughts and observations I have about this spectacular but time presses.

Here's the bottom line take away we should have, though. Events like InLight, First Friday and Broad Appétite are transforming Broad, its wide ungainliness, its semi-charming, semi-off-putting grittiness. Add in the Folk Festival, the proliferation of markets, and the other street festivals all over town, Richmond is reclaiming its public spaces.

This is an historic transformation. From the latter 19th century and more than halfway into the 20th century, Richmonders divided Broad right along the streetcar tracks; the "bad" north side, with its saloons, vaudeville and burlesque houses, nickelodeons, motion picture and legitimate theaters. Behind them, were Jackson Ward and Navy Hill, predominant black neighborhoods. The "south" or good side was where the major retail bustled, and the colossi of Miller & Rhoads and Thalhimer's. Of course, further east, down in Shockoe, form 1905 to about 1920, on Council Chamber Hill and into Shockoe Valley, was the tenderloin and immigrant tenements.

But like many U.S. cities, the vibrant retail center came to an end in the 1980s, and Richmond has struggled like others to redefine what this corridor can now mean to its citizens. The most successful responses have come from the entrepreneurs, the artists, and the makers and creators. Almost every public-private effort has failed or been mired in over-spending, planning mishaps and outright corruption.

Seeds grow where they are planted. Whether 1708 Gallery or Gallery5 on or near Broad, or Plant Zero in Manhester south of the river, they've been followed by restaurants, lofts, apartments, coffee shops and boutiques. What Richmond now needs downtown is a large grocery, or even department store--a regional based, original Big Store. Where'd you put it now, though, is a tough question.

Now, I'm not saying one event is a cure-all, but the momentum built by several of them creates a cumulative effect. And I've not heard much mention of this by any of the mayoral candidates. I don't understand why; except that the people are (almost) always ahead of the leaders. Whether a candidate was present during the evening, I do not know; there was a Mark Warner for Senate event at Quirk, though. Otherwise, I saw some of those Get Out The Vote petitioners, but no city job seeker out on the hustings. Kind of disappointing, if this was the actual case. Where are these people?

The production team that dismantled the Monroe and Broad stage, due to rain, then put together again and set up the sound and lights--those guys were some of the true heroes of the night.

Meanwhile, I danced with an Art Cheerleader to the cheering of a crowd, watched a beautiful woman in an 1830s style garment shoot flames, and experienced my Partner In Art For Life's video creation get projected on two brick walls.

As I stood there and watched the procession of models moving in their often confining creations and confections--including this marvelous Klimt-in-motion with a headdress of antler-like branches adorned with glowing lanterns-- I marveled. The Klimt had some trouble getting up the stairs--the branches got in the way of the handrails--and this true living work of art--needed to be assisted in her ascension.

This was a metaphor of Richmond's possibilities, and how often the biggest thing that gets in her way is herself. She just needs a little help, sometimes, to get unstuck and moving.

I ended my evening on a WoBSoC front porch railing, yakking with Mark Holmberg about Blue Shingles.

It just doesn't get much better.

More later.

Get Lit, Richmond!

InLight Will Brighten Up Broad Tonight

If you are late to the billion-eyed audience, you may not know that these two women, displaying the classic Greek tragedy/comedy duality, represent -- here at the Blue Raccoon, anyway -- the arrival of yet another First Friday High Art Hike throughout midtown Richmond. And the ladies will enjoy weather free of cyclonic activity suitable for their mode of dress exhibited above.

You can see more about InLight rightcheer.

If you know the story, please repeat along. The top image, not taken by me, records a moment at an opening several years ago at the vanished Three Miles Gallery and that this space, and an adjacent one, is now the busy Tarrant's Cafe.

But this Friday is more spectacular than any previous one that I've written of here because this is the inauguration of InLight Richmond, which involves the galleries along Broad and its immediate tributaries, staying open until midnight and all manner of special events, music, fashion, food, and yes, even a children's parade.

And yours truly is master of ceremonies for the 11th annual Wearable Art, that smashes art and fashion together and comes out with unique and sometimes revealing looks at how makers and creators interpret a particular theme, in this case, the illumination of Richmond.

Just call me MC KZ.

So for a few hours, you can come downtown and forget all this Presidential Impolitics mishigas, and just immerse yourself in the splendiferousness of the evening.

One of the highlights of this bright night will be the performance of the Hot 8 Brass Band from New Orleans, whom you may recognize for the Spike Lee film When The Levees Broke. You can sample their sound here.

All this, the Art Cheerleaders, and belly dancers, too.

So load up the station wagon, or grab the Broad Street/Downtown bus, and come on down and get turned on to some art and stuff.

The evening's shedule looks like this:


6 - 8 pm children's art & activities - Richmond Public Library Main Branch

7 pm Official Opening of InLight RICHMOND

7:00 pm Roving Spectacle: heads east from InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad) and west/north towards InLight from Richmond Public Library

7:30 pm Art Cheerleaders InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad)

7:30 pm Hot 8 Brass Band (Adams & Brook @ W. Broad) with roving processional inbetween

8:00 Belly Dancers InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad)

8:00 PM Slash Coleman/Neon Man - Jefferson and W. Broad

8:30 pm Royal Pain InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad)

8:45 pm Hot 8 Brass Band (Foushee & E. Broad)

9 pm Wearable InLight: 201 W Broad west to InLight Stage (Monroe and W.Broad) Harry Kollatz Jr., MC

9:30 pm Hot 8 Brass Band (Jefferson & W. Broad)

10:00 pm Belly Dancers InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad)

10:15 pm Nightshade (Shadow Puppets, Musicians & Dancers) InLight Stage east to Gallery 5

10:30 pm announcement of awards: Wearable InLight - InLight Stage

10:30 PM Slash Coleman/Neon Man - Jefferson and Broad

10:45 pm Royal Pain InLight Stage (Monroe & W. Broad)

11:15 pm dedication of Light Walk Legacy Piece: InLight Stage

11:30 PM announcement of awards: Best in Show (Curator's Choice); People's Choice Award InLight Stage

Hot Child In The City / Runnin' Wild And Lookin' Pretty


If you are late to the billion-eyed audience, you may not know that these two women, displaying the classic Greek tragedy/comedy duality, represent -- well, here at the Blue Raccoon, anyway -- the arrival of First Friday High Art Hike throughout midtown Richmond. And the ladies will enjoy the summery evening, suitable for their abbreviated dress. It's gonna be a scorcher this weekend.

If you know the story behind the above image, please repeat along. This was taken, and not by me, at an opening several years ago at the vanished Three Miles Gallery and that this space, and an adjacent one, is now the busy Tarrant's Café.

Tonight's gonna be a busy one.

You need to check out Squirrel-O-Rama at the 1708 Gallery featuring the combined talents of the Squirrely Girls. [Image from the exhibition]

The mad cap creatives include James Busby [a Girl, but not a girl], Melanie Christian, Sandra Luckett, and Katie Shaw Sweeney. All attended Virginia Commonwealth University's School of the Arts.

Something for everyone is promised, including music and a campfire, which you may not need tonight, but maybe they'll have marshmallows. With this group, it's bound to be arty and enjoyable and even, dare I say so? Provocative. Here's an indication of what you may expect:

"Several years ago in graduate school The Squirrelly Girls decided to create an outlet from all the heaviness of art and actually use art for enjoyment but remaining focused on their work. Melanie Christian and Sandra Luckett took it upon themselves to throw in some fun and stage a mock wedding celebration between the two. One afternoon the school closed down for an aqua color themed fake wedding with Sally Bowring presiding over the vows. Everyone in the room had to be dressed in the color Aqua. The next event was an Orange Rave in the elevator of the School of Fine Arts. The next event was a miniature winter parade down Broad Street where each Squirrelly Girl construed ‘Mardi Gras’ like winter floats."

There's also a new bi-weekly arts and entertainment publication hereabouts, Live Canvas Mag. The outfit trumpets itself with the great pride: "No opinion. No politics. No BS." OK fine.

But the calendar needs to be updated; the Firehouse Cabaret isn't up at the Firehouse Theater anymore...it's Reefer Madness! Which I saw last night, and it's exuberant, crazy, man, crazy fun.

Years ago, I vowed that the Firehouse, of which I'm a co-founder and a former president, would never produce musicals. Which goes to show that one should never say never. But that was before such strange delights came along as Batboy: The Musical, Hedwig and the Angry Inch and The Last Five Years, among others --and we've done all of them, in addition to our cabarets.

I love watching the singing and dancing excitement explode all over the stage, and into the audience and throughout the place.

Like Batboy!: The Musical, which uses the framework of Greek tragedy to tell an absurd story that's actually affecting, the sort of dramatic scarecrow that Reefer Madness clothes is Shakespearean, that is, Romeo and Juliet -- and zombie movies.

Director Jase Smith understands that in the world of the production, Reefer Madness is a high school anti-drug play that gives license for uptight kids to let loose their ids and their libidinal energies. So the play isn't camp so much as just gosh darn funny because for most of the time, it's played straight-faced with earnestness. At least that's what I think. Or I could be high.

Matt Beyer, as the Lecturer, is the serious center around which the hurly burly hummer muggery swirls. He also assumes several rolls and wears a mean pair of ram's horns.

I don't know if Mike Rieman (Jimmy) and Jacquelynn Camden (Mary Lane) studied Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland movies, but they play it as if they did. Camden reminds me of a cross between Cheri Oteri and Ellen Greene.

The titian-haired Kimberly Jones-Clark gets one of the show's meatier roles--and has one of its better voices-- as the drug house moll Mae whose addiction to the weed keeps her in a violent and co-dependent relationship with Jack (Chris Hester) who is a hissable evil pusher and a hipster Jesus (with a noticeable Mondrian tattoo on his right shoulder--reflecting the many parts and multi-hued characters of the Son of Man and Jack?). [Image via Whimsyspeaks.com]

But two of my favorite characters were the Placard Girls, Caylyn Temple and Jackie Prater. I loved'em. They come up to the podium and in stereo highlight the moral teachings of the play with their cards. If I'd seen the show a week ago, like I'd thought I would, I would've hired them to come along as my Historyettes for the Kollatz Does Richmond tour tomorrow.

I attended this performance in the accompaniment of an orchestra from the arts support group OPUS. These are swell folks, and much better looking than me. I sat in the "Reefer Den" which is an assortment of couches where you can eat munchies while you down your adult beverage. I enjoy a show that is just perfect for the space, and happy that the Firehouse is there to provide the stage.

After the show, I got to ride a River City Rickshaw twice on my way, first, to the Metro Grill and then to the New York Deli. Fun to clap my hands and shout, "Rickshaw!" Closest you can get in Richmond to hailing a cab. That's arriving in eco-friendly style.

Finally, as though the mellow of Richmonders wasn't harshed enough today by the stock market falling like an elevator without brakes due to greater unemployment figures and spiking gas prices, then the climbing mercury and sticky humidity didn't help, nor a gray pall that hung over the city.

This morning, many of us here went sniffing around our houses suspecting a fire or one nearby. Nope, turns out that the Sargasso Sea atmospheric conditions is sending us the smoke from a huge Eastern North Carolina forest fire. This is occurring in a nature preserve --which means that unless there's substantial rain on that piece of the country, the fire could burn for two months. It stinks, all the way around.

May First Friday: The Girls Are Back



If you are late to the billion-eyed audience, you may not know that these two women, displaying the classic Greek tragedy/comedy duality, represent -- well, here at the Blue Raccoon, anyway -- the arrival of yet another First Friday High Art Hike throughout midtown Richmond. And the ladies will enjoy fine weather, suitable for their mode of dress.


[Little did we know, but Catherine Keener, (above?)perhaps with friends, has visited...]

If you know the story, please repeat along. The topmost image was taken, and not by me, at an opening several years ago at the vanished Three Miles Gallery and that this space, and an adjacent one, is now the busy Tarrant's Café.

Before you head into the Presidential-named streets of midtown, though, you need to check out two exhibits by friends of ours across the street from each other, Louis Poole at Page Bond, 1625 W. Main St. and Steve Hedberg's new work at the Glave-Kocen Gallery, 1620 W. Main St.

Both painters create environments in their pieces; Louis' houses verge on the abstract, Steve's buildings, streetscapes and landscapes are rendered with a realistic vision, but he also presents abstract elements.

The Poole here is via the Richmond Federal Reserve site.

As they say, the Glaves and the Kocens, on their site about Steve:

Steve Hedberg - harley on lombardy

Steve Hedberg - street parking on floyd

Steve Hedberg - untitled

new works by Steve Hedberg

May 2 - May 31, 2008
Opening Reception,May 2, 2008
6:00 until 9:00

With his latest body of work, Richmond artist, Steve Hedberg continues to divide his time between two styles: realism and abstract. He takes a slightly gritter approach to his realism, focusing on Richmond's Fan neighborhood, old automobiles and local haunts as subject sources. His work in abstract furthers his exploration of a seemingly alternative universe, using compositions of geometric planes balanced by course texture and color.

By the way, A.d.a Gallery, 228 W. Broad St., turns five years old with this First Friday. Gallerist John Pollard has made a definite mark here, and come June, he'll will be hieing off to Scope Basel in Switzerland. This month, members of the collaborative FEAST are exhibiting.


Below are further directly ripped-off blurbs of some of the premiering events:

Quirk Gallery
Chuck Scalin: Rush: Explorations in Glass

We’re SO excited to see what Richmond based (hum, legendary) artist Chuck Scalin will pull out of the kiln for his upcoming first solo show at Quirk. Kiln? Yes, kiln! Chuck has been working with local legendary artist herself, Jude Schlozhauer, learning the secrets of glass. Taking his exquisite collages to the next level, Scalin creates unique (yeah, you’ve heard it before, but it’s true here) works of art by fusing glass and found objects. Each one a mystery until it emerges from the heat, Scalin then works the surface with addition of objects and by working the surface with graphite or paint. This is a not to be missed show!

Exhibition Statement: The creative RUSH comes after the piece is removed from the kiln, with the challenge of where and how to take the piece to completion. Inspiration for these pieces is derived from the irregular textures, color alterations, and accidents that occur during the firing process and result in determining the direction of the final abstract composition.

Rush opens at Quirk on May 2 and continues until June 21.

VCU MFA Thesis Show!
It’s May and that means a city filled with more art shows than you can shake a paintbrush at, thanks to the many end-of-semester shows presented by art students from across the City.

The VCU School of the Arts Department of Sculpture presents their MFA Thesis Exhibitions at two annex locations that are in the First Fridays area. We’re sure you won’t want to miss the works of these exceptional emerging artists!

Terminal: VCU Sculpture MFA Thesis Annex Exhibition
Featuring: Sami Ben Larbi, Lily Cox-Richard, David Grainger, Eli Kessler

Opening Receptions: May 2, 6-9pm & May 9, 7-9pm
2 Locations: 5-7 West Broad St and 209 N Foushee Street
Exhibition continues: May 2-18, 2008

1708 Gallery 319 West Broad St. Richmond, VA 23220 (804) 643 · 1708 1708gallery.org Tuesday - Friday: 11 am – 5 pm Saturday: 1 – 5 pm and by appointment First Fridays hours: 7 – 10 pm

Forgotten Constellations Artist Paul Cantanese presents projected installations First Fridays: May 2, 7-10pm Exhibition: May 2-31 1708 Gallery was founded in 1978, and is a nonprofit exhibition and performance space committee to expanding the understanding, development, and appreciation of contemporary art.

Gallery 5 @ VA Fire & Police Museum 200 W. Marshall St. Richmond, VA 23220 (804) 644 · 0005 gallery5arts.org Thursday, Friday and Saturday 11am – 5pm, and other times by appointment First Fridays hours: 7 – 11 pm Exintrinsic: The Art of Ebony Patterson, Lisa Kellner, Brooke Hine An exhibition that embraces the fine subtleties and details of the surface and texture of the human body, Extrinsic features Ebony Paterson from Kingston, Jamaica, and Lisa Kellner from Richmond. Both artists create an exquisite visual dialogue about the body as a receptacle or vessel for passage while dissecting the discrepancies between what is perceived and what is visible. Lisa Kellner's work ranges from delicate drawings and paintings exemplifying the topographical qualities in the landscape of the skin to installations that explore the qualities of flesh and bodily structure, juxtaposed with the aspects of personal sanctuary. Ebony Patterson creates large scale mixed media prints that seek to reference specifically female objectification from an autobiographical perspective, while making cultural references to her own experiences with her own body. First Fridays: May 2, 7-10pm; Featuring live entertainment Exhibition: May 2-28 Gallery5, one of Richmond’s newest and most innovative visual and performing art centers, is located in a National Historic Landmark known as Steamer Company No. 5. Gallery5’s mission is to help promote a new understanding of the arts in an interactive atmosphere by combining multiple mediums under one roof. Our monthly exhibitions include a collaboration of both visual works of art, live music, film and a wide array of performing arts.

Ghostprint Gallery 220 West Broad Street Richmond, VA 23220 (804)344-1557 www.ghostprintgallery.com Wednesday - Saturday 1 – 7 pm or by appointment First Fridays: 7-10pm First Fridays hours: 7 – 10 pm Peter Fowler - Let the Paint Speak Fowler is a prolific painter whose bravura brushwork and luscious use of paint convey a sense of joyful energy, whether his subject be impressionistic landscapes or romantic figures of women. Peter may be booked for portraits at his First Friday Opening. First Fridays: May 2, 7-10pm Exhibiton: May 2-31 From the cutting edge to established International artists, non-traditional media to oil painting, Ghostprint Gallery synthesizes disparate elements in an enlightened perspective on art itself.

Stupor Tuesday All's I care about is art (and whether this beard makes me look too old)

Me at the opening of Jillian McDonald's Fanatic
exhibition at 1708 Gallery, via Brad Birchett. Brad
addresses Jillian's obsession by describing me as
sporting a Billy Bob Thornton beard. Y'know, he's
right. I dunno yet if I want to keep the fuzz; five
years ago I looked like Trotsky. I don't know if this is
image inflation or deflation, but I know which Jillian
prefers.


Billion-eyed audience, fatigued as you are between Super Bowl elation and Super Tuesday depression, or vice versa, I'm not tonight discussing either. This is, after all, Mardis Gras. I've had two Hurricanes.

So fortified, I'm taking up a rather laggard brief summary of the past weekend and the cultural exploration of Richmond in which I'm able to partake.

The rains during February's First Friday subsided by afternoon making the later evening comfortable and suitable for the high art hike. We strolled into a.d.a to partake of the whimsical and perverse fantasyland of Yuliya Lanina with her wicked little creatures and landscapes that seduce the eye and titillate the senses. And made me feel weird. That the editor of Vanity Fair bought one of her pieces made me feel strange; just like when I buy one of the magazines almost every other month. It's People for people who think they are above people. I guess Richmond DNA dampens my sense of ironic fun. But Lanina is having fun turning the Teletubbies, and the Smurfs, and what ever else, inside out.

Between a.d.a and 1708 I got quite a dose of Chelsea. Not Clinton. The New York arts district. But without the art aquarium sensation. The other Chelsea, well, I saw her by Hillary during one stump speech or another and she was wearing black slacks, and observed, well, the audience behind her, all the way up. I thought at first I was seeing wrong; the camera switched to Hillary waving, then back, and yup. If you know what I'm saying. She's a tall, redheaded young woman.

Jillian's installation is dynamic and busy and fun. Plus, she was giving people fake Gothic type-face Billy Bob tattoos. This provided much enjoyment that I abstained from, but that's my issue. The Partner In Art For Life got one, as Brad Birchett via the 1708 blog shows.

Jillian had a steady stream of customers for the entire evening.

Besides here fascination for Billy Bob, Jillian also works in the idiom of...zombies. In one instance, she taped herself while riding on a New York subway transforming into a zombie. This is quite famous. I read about her in the New York Times some time ago, thinking she was one of those types circulating in the arts firmament, who wouldn't be caught dead, much less zombified, in Richmond. [Subway image via NYT, and Jillian]

Well.

I was quite wrong.

Here I could offer a dull discursis on how Jillian's art is an extension of vanitas, and embracing the fleeting and fickle nature of fame--what it does to those who experience the expansion of recognition and the audience that appreciates or becomes downright fanatic about that individual's greater presence.

I might go on about how Jillian's examination of the zombie is an understanding of our culture's death-in-life characteristic, and how we are both preoccupied by fatality, yet unable to come to terms with finality.

No matter how true (or not), such a recitation would drain the fun out of the experience, just as fluids seep out of a dead body.

We later had the delightful opportunity to hang out out with Jillian at Tarrant's, and found her to be unassuming, funny, smart, and from Winnipeg, Manitoba, and that's as in Canaday, bay-bee.

Her video pieces about she and Billy Bob, and zombies shorts, have provoked questions about how many were in her film crew. For the most part, it was just her and a camera, or a computer. She doesn't have much ambition to do videos and such things. Not her art, though part of the form she pursues. Wow. That was refreshing.

But prior to sitting down with Jillian, I took the shuttle bus provided by the Valentine Richmond History Center to see Shanna Merola's Tell Me Where You're Marching, Tell me Where You're Bound.

This is an eerie collection of images that seek to capture both the distance and immediacy of Richmond's slave-trading history. Little physical remains of the slave internment cells and wharves and auction houses, so Merola presents moods and poems about these places. She's from Connecticut, and studying here, which again demonstrates to me that those who come to Richmond from outside just see the place as we cannot. I hope she can figure out a way to stay and that I'll see more of her work.

Now amid all this, we also went to the third anniversary of WRIR 97.3 held at the Renaissance Conference Center, built in the 1880s as a Masonic meeting place. This was a big, good time, though the beer line proved lengthy and the service there a bit dilatory, but hey.

As is presented in these images from WRIR, and photographer Monica Marusek, the independent spirit was in full flower.

We arrived in time to see Tulsa Drone, a real treat. They describe themselves as ambient punk, which seems just destined to go into a the film score for an Edgar Allan Poe bio-pic, should one ever get made.

Amie and I enjoyed seeing the whole group under lights. We've been audience members most often in dark, crowded venues, and this night's line up was worth seeing. They had I think seven for so musicians performing, including horns -- a punk ambient big band.

They played, and were loud, and the space suited them, and I noted how several of the players turned away from the audience, so though I had plenty of light to view them, I couldn't see their faces.

Those rock and rollers.

The Richmond Moving Image Cooperative's Fifth Annual Italian Film Festival returned with its roster of classic Italian cinema to the Firehouse Theatre on Satuday. As usual, with every year, I become wintry and wistful in my mind, recalling the nights when I was young and walking to the late and lamented Biograph Theatre nearby on West Grace Street. A whole series of curling waves bearing sensations like lost objects in the water bob up. Of leaving a film and ambling with a friend, or alone, to the old Village Café while amid the raucous and debauched roisterousness of Grace in those days (and brought back to life with vivid impressions by Greg Hershey here.)

Having made it to a little round table, or a squeaking booth with wood darkened by a patina caused by the smoke of several thousand cigarettes, you'd sit there and talk about the film while the Village and Grace Street roared and clamored around you. There was nothing like this experience anywhere near Richmond at the time. This was the mid-1980s when Reagan was the perpetual president--he smiled, got elected; he smiled again, got elected; by then, I was tired of Reagan's smile. But we sort of knew where we stood. There was still a Soviet Union. I protested contra aide. Rent on my Grove Avenue upstairs room was a $135 a month, and I was hard-pressed to come up with the sum.

And the Biograph was an oasis--though an overused metaphor--but this was the truth of the matter. Seeing the latest Woody Allen, or a classic like Abel Gance's Napoléon (five hours cramped in a Biograph seat that sat at a slight backward and awkward incline, like an ancient astronaut's couch), or Rembetika about "the birth of the Greek blues." And you could go out into the evening with a girl and feel good about life. Man Facing Southeast's screening kind of changed my life. An incident that occurred to a friend of mine as we were making our way to The Village embarked me on writing a novel. Not published, but written -- you get my meaning.

Anyway, that the Richmond region is bereft of a true art house, like Charlottesville's Vinegar Hill, is preposterous. The Bow Tie Boulevard theater complex may fill this lapse, but we'll see. At least we'll be able to walk there. And that, too, was half the pleasure, of going to the Biogarph with anticipation, and leaving satisfied and perhaps hand-in-hand, meandering through a warm Fan night checkerboarded by the lit windows of apartment buildings, and townhouses lining Park Avenue, like Edwardian sideboards. Though still absurd, the world appeared to make more sense then, than now.

That the RMIC doesn't have a permenant space frustrates me, knowing that the exact place they needed, the 1926 Capitol Theatre (thank you Cinematour!) a few blocks from the Firehouse at Robinson and Broad, was ripped down with callous glee in September 1995 a mere four years prior to the group's organization under Mike Jones, and three before the arrival of James and Katie Adams Parrish, and Flicker. (I have a brief account of the Capitol's foreshortened life in True Richmond Stories.)

Enough of that: don't look back, as the song says.

At the Italian event was per usual the delicious offerings from Mama 'Zu and 8 1/2 restaurants, red wine, and even an Italian coffee cart parked out front. But there was no Sophia Loren. Due to the scarcity of film prints and even tighter presentation requirements, the anticipated 2 p.m. showing of Mario Monicelli's 1972 La Mortadella (Lady Liberty) starring La Loren wasn't available. So, instead, we were treated to Ettore Scola's 1974 C'eravamo tanto amati (We All Loved Each Other So Much).

This year, the festival utilized rear screen projetion via DVD that prevented silhouettes of wine-drinkers and bathroom-goers from blocking the screen, but also can't give the richness of color that film provides. There was an amusing technical problem at the beginning that caused Mike Jones to soldier through a vamping introduction. The film is told from several perspectives and has three different beginnings. Well, as one of the protagonists is halted midway into a swimming pool dive, a narrator says that we'll return to his splashdown in 30 years. At this point the movie stopped and Mike and James futzed with the set up. I jibed that this is a meta cinematic concept,all we'll see is the three separate introductions, over and over. A woman in the audience laughed, "It's Groundhog Day after all!"

Loved that reference.

Still. The film prefigures a much worse 1983 Hollywood version--The Big Chill, or perhaps, John Sayles' 1980, The Return of the Secaucus 7. Less is at stake in those two than in the Monicelli film.

We All Loved is an epic, really, that embraces friendships several men and women from their days as partisans fighting the Germans in the snows during World War II. Woodstock it wasn't. And the vast themes of politics, of communism, the choice of moving into the middle class and respectability at the cost of shutting oneself off from a more radical past, and how compromise becomes necessary for living, the splendid evocations of love and loss and friendship and betrayals great and small-- they're all in there. And there's plenty of slapping. Men flathanding women, women backhanding men, and screaming and crying and attempted suicide. And the importance of the post-World War II film, and a leif motif of The Bicycle Thief (which I experienced for the first time at the festival, last year).

The audience for the second film, Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, packed the place and there was much joyous eating, with the food line backed out the door. Also grand was seeing so many friends, and a few whom I'd not seen in a while.

Watching an original after the greater culture has so absorbed its themes and moods is jarring. The camera angles, the hyperreal colors, the antic dream like nature of the film, have been taken and put into films by lesser directors ever since 1965. Was it really that long ago? The hairstyles--in particular the character of Adele played by Luisa Della Noce--and even some of the fashions--and situations, seemed far more contemporary. This causes disorientation of a cinematic nature; the film is old, but it's been so plundered, you can think you're seeing either an hommage or a parody.

This was Fellini's first color project. And wow, was I astonished to see Valeska Gert as a nutty Far Eastern hermaphrodite seer! Members of the billion-eyed audience may recall her as the repressed lesbian overseer of the girl's reformatory to which Louise Brooks gets sent in Pabst's Diary of A Lost Girl.

Amie and me couldn't stay for the final film of the evening, Divorce American Style. But I have to say, the festival was a tremendous success for us, and I hope for the RMIC.

Zombies, A Birthday, the Slave Trail, and Big Naked Men



The gals are back for the First Friday's On and Off Broad Art Walk sponsored by Curated Culture that each month injects the kind of liveliness pictured here to midtown Richmond. If you are new to the billion-eyed audience, you may not know that the image is of a long ago opening at the former Three Miles Gallery which is now the new and improved Tarrant's Café, that takes the name and part of their space from the pharmacy that conducted business there for years, and a splendid stained glass transom bears the name.

We hope the rains of the day's forepart may slack and that the street will be busy anyway, as it often is, and that the girls will wear an appropriate wrap around their shoulders.

UPDATE: Yes indeedy, the precip is past, and Watteau clouds and blue sky are treating the eye.

The star turn tonight is the Jillian MacDonald exhibtion at the 1708 Gallery. MacDonald brings her new media/performance work, that has included transforming herself from a normal subway communter into a zombie, and an ongoing artful obsession with Billy Bob Thorton, and the general insanity of the age. And the Partner In Art For Life is bartending.

At art6, gallery go-founder John Bailey is displaying 13 floor-to-ceiling crayon drawings of nekkid men. Hey, if it's what you're into. The curious audience should be worth observing.

Also tonight, the Valentine Museum Richmond History Center opens Tell Me Where You're Marching, Tell Me Where You're Bound, a photographic exhibit of pinhole images by Shanna Merola of the all-but erased images of Richmond's antebellum slave trade. I want to make an effort to get to Court End for this, but as usual there's much going on. There's a gallery talk on February 10. This haunting image represents the holding pens of Lumpkin's Jail (If you follow the link, scroll down)

I'll be checking out the Third Birthday Party of WRIR Radio with its array of musical and performance artists. This is held in what was built as the Masonic Temple and is now commercial and residential, with the Renaissance Center conference center within. This is always a big fun party and I'm eager to hear the No BS Brass and Tulsa Drone. I've liked the snippets I've heard of Erin Tobey, but don't know much else about her.

Now, tomorrow, of course, if you have a cultural bone in your body is the Richmond Moving Image Co-Cop Italian Festival -- the fifth! -- and it's in the intimacy of the Firehouse Theatre, food, wine and cappacino all day long. All that, and Sophia Loren, too! [via onanslemming.nl]

Walking And Talking: January First Friday


This is Art6, but the September show, but it was about the same temperature. And, I like pink and a woman's right to bare arms. Via Art6 archives, Danielle Nilson, for Jimmy Warner Design.

A non-wintry evening, and fair temperatures, brought the faithful out for First Friday though without Virginia Commonwealth University's students and faculty back in full force from the holidays, the crowds weren't as thick downtown but still notable. These days, we've become accustomed to packed sidewalks as platoons march from gallery to gallery but this way, we actually got to spend time with art and the people who make the work.

Despite the fewer numbers, seemed to me there were petitioners everywhere on Broad Street, for whatever political cause and ballot-qualification; and flyer distributors for this band or that performance. Two of these were for WRIR's upcoming third birthday party at the Renaissance Center, 107 W, Broad St., February 1, 7 p.m. to 12 a.m., and it's always a great time. Slam Richmond's third season is also beginning.

And the annoying and young street preachers were out in number with a freaking bullhorn. They are persuaded that cheese and red wine are the transubtantiatives of those borne for perdition.

The Partner In Art For Life and I enjoyed dinner at home then walked arm and arm to the Glave-Kocen Gallery on Main to see a group show of which friend and colleague Steve Hedberg was a part. We got there too late to see Steve.

We departed to walk zig zag across the Fan to Franklin and joined up with the main art event on Broad and 1708 Gallery. There, I walked around and underneath Kai Richter's installation which reminded me of several things: in observing recent renovations of downtown buildings, the sluice of timbers that come sliding down from flumes placed at second and third story buildings; an arrested collapse of a wooden structure as though frozen in time, and, the mixture of needles for an old Ker-Plunk! game. [As seen here via lauriekendrick]


There we teamed up with Katherine Henry and continued our progress though conscious of how we'd gotten a late start. By time we got to art6, we'd missed Marsden Williams. A former student, Marsden's work is bold, in terms of line and and color, and Matisse-like.

I was also impressed not just by the size of Gayle Lowry's landscapes but how I was reminded of the rugged beauty of the Scottish Highlands.

We then hied over to Transmission where for a few moments we stood outside and watched a puppet show in progress. Transmission is a small place, and crowded by an audience enjoying themselves, and we were motioned in and found room to stand toward the door side.

Here, we watched artist/puppeteer Sean Samoheyl. He is someone who seems informed both by South Park and Philip Guston and Bread & Puppet Theatre, so that's quite a combination. He straps his stage to himself by means of an ingenious apron device that both obscures the mechanics of his puppet manipulation and transforms himself into a living theater. We got into the story mid-plot, but Matt McDonald who works on a farm had come into a thrift store run by a friend Seth and accompanied by a guy named Ernest who spoke only through a megaphone and possessed great knowledge of conspiracy theories and a willingness to discuss them.

Matt seemed concerned about Seth's thrift store habits, admonishing him, "I don't know much about like interventions and stuff, but Seth, you're addicted to trifting!" Seth admitted to owning some 400 pairs of pants that he doesn't wear, and that he'd organized them according to straight leg, flat front, etc. But now he managed the store, and in appreciation for Matt's concern, handed him a bag of clothes.

The presentation was quite amusing. There's a variety of work from a across the country, drawings and prints, in this Word Made Fresh show.

On the street, I could see the fire twirlers and here the whoosh of controlled flames in front of Gallery5.

We ske-daddled then for Ghostprint Gallery where a long-ago student of Amie's, Chet Naylor, has his Unified Field exhibition. I thought of a recent show I'd seen about galaxies and how his tumultuous forms and colors reminded me of images taken in space of other whirling cosmic bodies.

Amie caught up with Chet, meanwhile I got a very nice call from Katie and Heather at the New York Deli, as they'd already done Gallery5 and retreated to Carytown. Tempting, but I'd just had my Annual Nativity event there--and they'd missed the gathering by probably a half hour. Though my feet were hurting a bit and I was sitting in the window when Katie Ukrop came by and joked that this was where I was holding court. Jason ambled in and there was amiable chat.

We ambled past ada but what we back was John's back as he talked with a couple whose backs were turned our way. The hour was advanced; Amie sought to take pictures of the art we could see through the windows as she doubted she'd get back here to otherwise see the work.

But it was time to go! Pushing on past toward 11 p.m.. Katherine was kind to give us a ride home.

How I (Sort of) Met Mandy Moore at the Pollaks
and Pretty Girls Taking Pictures of Art

She didn't quite look this, um, luscious, but gosh durn close. I appropriated this
image from The Trouble With Spikol.

In fact, others were more excited by this chance encounter than me, because, with all deference for the wonderful young woman, I, being in the actuarial tables half-way to dead, reside just outside her demographic.

Though I knew of her musicological relationship with a member of Richmond's funkalicious Modern Groove Syndicate, via that group's keyboardist Daniel Clarke, and for certain viewed her on Entourage (which is more Amie's show than mine), I wouldn't have been able to distinguish her in a blind challenge out of the numerous quite attractive and well-dressed women at the 10th Annual Theresa Pollak Prize for Excellence in the Arts. Which is why I'm not writing for TMZ.com. Well, that and other reasons -- like discretion and taste.

My partner-in-art provides an accounting and assessment of the Pollaks on her site, and in an example of Interwebs Logrolling In Our Time, I send you there and here.

So, yes, it was a splendid evening. Though we could use a good long rain, the soaking didn't occur yesterday evening. Preparing for the Pollaks involves the entire office which, for these few autumn days, turns into an events planning company while also trying to get out a magazine. Justin Vaughan, who put together the audio visual part of the program, was up to 3 a.m for press checks at Cadmus and had to be out late in the afternoon at Byrd Press and swooped in to the Singleton Center in time to do a cue-to-cue with me and the pictures.

In truth, I was buzzing about being a door hawk and shepherding people to the check-in. I was amused at getting a curtsy from the fantabulous Pam Reynolds, then V. Lee Aulick, a magazine artist and designer who created the program for the night, came up and with wide eyes asked me in a hoarse whisper, "Is that Mandy Moore?" Lee is quite a less further along her journey along the aforementioned actuarial flow chart and thus more attuned to names and faces of the famous more her age (I mean, I have a thang for Mimi Rogers and Ellen Barkin, both of whom are gifted with the sexiest crooked mouths. But that's just me.)

I shrugged and said something like, "Yuh, prolly, the keyboardist of Modern Groove played in her summer tour."

"Oh, wow!" exclaimed Lee, who has big eyes anyway, and they really got expansive then. I don't know why. She got a picture in the magazine of her right next to a grinning Elliot Yamin. Me, in a room full of cameras, didn't get an image for proof. I mean, geez, the woman is here to have a good time, not to get made much over. I just don't do that. Yet another reason I'm not working for TMZ.

During the reception she gave me hearty compliments and I bowed, and said something dumb like, "Well, I must go be a butterfly," which made her laugh large, and she was a great laugh, and for that reason, I figure she's a swell gal, and I curse myself yet again for my youth's lack of discipline, and not sticking with the piano lessons.

At any rate, I'll get to the Pollaks a wee bit later. I do want to say that the staff almost made me tear up because in the lobby there during the reception they presented me with a special honor Pollak of my own. Wow. 10 years.

The lobby of the Singleton Center has, I think, seldom hosted such a variety of artists gathered for the single purpose of camaraderie. The food was excellent, the spirit effusive, and several people asked if we could do this every Friday, minus the awards.

Chillaxin'

First, I want to say that after a bustling week of book stuff, art stuff and work stuff, and much going and doing , today was chillaxin' time. I performed an official function during the morning at this newcomer event that my editor Susan asked me to speak for at St. Giles Presbyterian Church. I didn't really know what this all was, including that women were the sole paticipants. Or, seemed to me. I also had a book to tout, which I did, at the very end of the talk. So I guess I did OK, but due to the Pollak kerfluffel, on Friday I just plain forgot to pick up any magazines to show off. I did manage to have a few business cards on me, though. I was given a name tag shaped like a moving box, with my name, and stencil-style warnings of FRAGILE and HANDLE WITH CARE.

Amie, despite battling the creeping head-throat crud all week, and venturing out to see the Pollaks last night, pulled a gallery sitting shift at 1708 today. Good thing. The place was busy with college coeds undertaking class assignments with earnest expressions, short skirts and boots, and mini-cameras. Amie sighed, "Pretty girls taking pictures of art, click click click," and she mimed the action. They even took images of the gallery's marquee. In her time as an undergrad, students actually like took notes and stuff. "It's a different day," she said.

The day was warm with breezes and quite autumnal. After piloting the art partner into her gallery chair, I needed to break a $10 for change to use in the reader-printer at the library, so I went to Lift and got a pumpkin latte and a hot green tea for her, though I forgot the honey.

Dropped off some of Amie's exhibition cards and admired the bountiful and layered billboard at Lift, which resembles a Flock of Seagulls haircut. But a coffee shop without a cluttered billboard isn't really a coffeeshop, or not a healthy one anyway, and I judge a community's activity, too, by those displays. The tactile quality and visual dynamism of a coffeeshop billboard is far more interactive than, say, a MySpace page.

On my way to Lift, I kept hearing what I thought was some kind of announcements going on a megaphone or speaker system, in the distance. Is there a political gathering at Capitol Square? I realized, no, it was recorded commentary coming over a speaker at the ada gallery. From what I heard, there was some kind of horse race being called, but with artists instead of steeds. The experience was one of a perfect Richmond disorientation. Here I am on Broad Street, on Saturday afternoon, with this absurd horse race going on and just me listening.

One aspect I enjoyed of my walk, and noted throughout the day, was the variety of people I'm seeing these days in Richmond's public places and along the sidewalks: different hues, nationalities, couples of differing heritages. I get a little hopeful about the place seeing this. A little. Then I think about the current mishigas in City Hall, and I get tired.

Nike on a bike

So coffee and honeyless tea delivered--I would've gone back for the honey, but the Partner said, nah, don't--I ambled over to the library. Pleasing stroll. Gorgeous light. My pumpkin latte was satisfying but I couldn't take it into the library and so had to sit in front of Michael Morchower's bear and drink. There was a guy on the porch next door sitting there with his white poodle, and we were all taking in the day. This is a shady row of historic buildings that make me happy just being around them.

I sipped my pumpkin latte observing a young woman on a bike sleek and sure and swift streak past like a Nike on two wheels. That's how Lea Marshall of Ground Zero looks. Zoom! I here to proclaim victory! If I were making a film in Richmond, and using some mythological paradigm, that's how I'd cast her. Nike on a bike. Then came some unshaven, sunglassed guys in a VW bug convertible rocking out and singing in unison. A man in shirtsleeves walking slow along the herringbone pattern sidewalk, hands in pockets, in no rush.

Done with the coffee, I proceeded into the library, where I'd a few days earlier--while researching the 1918 flu, left my Waiting For The Bus/Read In Spare Moments book, Morris Ecksteins' Rites of Spring. Which I've mentioned in a post some while ago. In a really good section now, as Ecksteins is explaining the underpinnings of the "Christmas Truce" that occurred at sporadic places along the line in France that first year of the war, but afterwards such open fraternization became unthinkable. Amie and I caught a well-made film, Joyeux Noel, about this on one of our indie film channels, and she'd asked me if this really happened, and I thought that it had, and Ecksteins confirmed that the film compressed several discrete events that occurred at disparate locations -- in some sections lasting through January.

Dance of the Reader-Printer

So I picked up the book at the reference desk and shared with the librarians my mention of their assistance to me in preparing the columns the comprise The Slender Volume. They appreciated the mention, and gave me the name and number of the person who acquires titles for the library. Then, upstairs to ferret out more fluenza. Now, here's a complaint to the city, to which I pay taxes and pledge my fidelity. Harrumph.

There are two reader-printers, and only one working, and it's been months. I love libraries but I am also on a limited time budget. People who undertake research in such places like the equipment that allows them to do such an activity to operate and not require waiting. Yes, the Library of Virginia--a few blocks more distant--has several of these machines, but, I was closer to the gallery and there was a woman there, doing her own research, and I didn't want to interrupt her. I thought for sure there was another machine in the building, but there wasn't. The jaunty capped librarian was a bit anxious, I think, because there were two uniformed officers of the peace giving a talking to a ruddy-faced, burly fellow who probably wasn't there to look up back issues of Psychology Today.

Death and more death

The lady on the machine graciously yielded, to take a break and I picked up with the News Leader in the dreary days of October 1918. Death and more death. Death in Flanders fields from bullets and shells and dysentery, death on West Main Street from the Spanish flu, and a curious funeral at Riverview Cemetery where airplanes dropped roses both on the house prior to the service, and afterward, at the grave site. "First Airplane Funeral," the headline crowed. The guy was a lieutenant in the air corps, and stationed in Michigan, but I couldn't figure out whether he was taken by the flu or something else. I didn't find his obit.

The papers of the autumn 1918 are chocked of unrelieved anxiety and dying. Yet, too, here are the diverting antics of Mutt and Jeff and the Katzenjammer Kids and The Toonerville Trolley. No television, or radio even, then the entire realm of public gathering places were closed for a month -- no movies, plays, lectures -- even the Virginia State Fair, held then near where the Science Museum is, was canceled.

Lauren Kendall's Gellman Room sessions

So then a gentleman came up and he had three rolls of film he needed to look through, but he didn't want to kick me off, and I said, no, no, I need to be here longer than you'll want to be, and so I relinquished my time, and he said he'd be about 35 minutes.

About then, a singer's voice was wafting up from the below the mezzanine, a plaintive full tone, and I realized that Lauren Kendall was in the Gellman Room. I'm not acquainted with her in a personal way, knowing her in that Richmond manner of "around" because I travel in concentric circles, theatre/music/performance, and her circle sort of revolves within those. Anyway, the moment was right, and I sat in the back, and watched her and listened and drifted. Her sonorous keyboards and cello, her voice, somewhat sad, soulful, moody, and I thought of approaching Richmond through mists curling over the James. I wondered who Mr. Gellman was, I suppose much as the guy last Saturday wondered why I didn't know who Mr. Brown of Brown's Island was (Elijah Brown, as it turns out, who purchased the land in 1826. But I digress).

Wind buffeted the trees out the window and I thought of Carlisle Montgomery, playing the room, not well known then, and a sudden storm slashing at the windows and how people, rain splattered and damp, wandered into the room as though her high, strong voice had summoned them there out of the weather. And they were surprised to see her, this stropping red head, playing a fierce sound out of her guitar, like a fight.

Sickness and strikes

But I enjoyed this opportunity to hear Lauren while not in a bar and I didn't have to pay anybody, just let the experience enfold me, there with about 15 or so folks. She had a percussionist there with her, and I can't remember his name just now. I didn't stay to hear her last song, as I had flu to do, but I should've. Her song followed me upstairs, and the fellow at the printer wasn't quite done, so I read a piece in Archaeology Today about the body of a boy found in a church in...France, I think, whose death may yield ways to manufacture better AIDs medicine.

Back at the printer, looking for some mention of the railroad strike that The Great Dabney tells of in his Richmond book, in his two paragraph summation of the flu story. He cites a private manuscript that describes the ghoulish sight of coffins piling up at Main Street Station. The lack of trains kept body transportation from occurring, but also prevented the shipment of firewood to keep people warm, and medicine. I saw one article mentioning how a strike was avoided, but nothing about one that occurred. I saw another-- related maybe-- about lumber piling up on the sides of railways.

An editorialist one day in early October says that this flu isn't a disaster, that if people keep their wits they'll live, but the very next day officials meeting in Petersburg say that "drastic action" was required to prevent the spread of the ailment. There was quite a bit of that; one day, the flu was decreasing, the next worsening, as Richmond became one huge metaphorical patient with a critical and fluctuating condition. The only thing I can do is track down Dabney's source, which is at the Virginia Historical Society, and see if there's any more specifics.

Tarrant's

Then it was about 4 p.m, hunger was now an issue, and I needed to see what was up at 1708. A lovely day, just lovely. Row of school buses lined up in front of Theatre IV for their children's matinee; a group of well-dressed people at Popkin Tavern and at least two men in Confederate military uniforms; two Sunday best girls giggling in a car parked on Foushee and a notable and admirable assortment of high heels click clocking on the sidewalk. Young women were in the gallery -- downtown on this quiet Saturday was experiencing a veritable fall blossoming of bare-shouldered pulchritude.

I conferred with the Partner about what to do about eats and walked back to Tarrant's to get the specials on their sidewalk chalkboard. Glanced at the window menus. Amie went for the reuben with horse radish on the side; me, the portabello sandwich. I had mine there with a Yuengling, read Ecksteins and chatted with the amiable host and showed off the Slender Volume. An attractive couple at one point entered, somewhat confused, looking for the place with pool table; nope, Popkin, down the street. A guy who seated at the end of the bar was waiting to meet a friend, whom he glimpsed through the window and using his cell phone, guided the friend into Tarrant's much like an air traffic controller coaching to the tarmac a passenger jet in the hands of a well-intentioned civilian: "No, turn left. No, your other left. I can see you standing right there."

Mr. Able

Heading back to 1708, I spied Amie going into Quirk and I huffed up to catch her. She'd gone in for a minute, but she was further inside and didn't see me. I caught the eye of man there, who let me in, "I'm Amie's husband," which was the woman now realizing there was some reception planned here. Long tables with place settings and people's names written on paper coverings. Looked like it would be fun.

We skeedaddled back to 1708 where the Partner now had to start closing the shop. Joseph Johnson of Corporate & Museum Frame saw us and invited us in; he's exhibiting his large format black and white photographs, really glorious work. He and Amie talked frames and photo techniques. He brought out two grand pictures he'd purchased of weddings, taken probably just under a century ago. Their clarity and precision and the way their border frames matched the tone of the pictures was impressive, and that kind of care taken today is rare.


I enjoy speaking with Joseph, he makes me feel like I'm in a Southern Chelsea, as though the "A" ran from Inwood into Main Street Station. [I'd like to see how a New York Metro overnight car would look...] Amie couldn't tarry. I was quite taken with a dusk-time image of Broad Street with a brilliant cloudhead, glowing a like a promise of redemption, taken from Joseph's third floor...a cap of one of the Milk Bottle building's eponymous features, the ghost signs and street lights coming on, and Mr. Able, the propane heat advertisement figure, who has, if you look at him, um, a rather fiery crotch.

Joseph showed me a big image he'd framed some time ago for a client, a picture familiar to me but I'd not seen it so large, of the Virginia capitol rising out of the Evacuation Fire wreckage. Joseph pointed out the now-gone fan lights, and the bare flag poles.

The women come and go

At 1708, people kept coming. Another gaggle of young women, and they took pictures of art, and themselves; then yet another bunch--of high school girls, with their mothers, and now its past 5 going on 5:30 and she gives them her exhibition cards and explains that at Plant Zero, at this time of day, people will be going in and out of the hall, and her e-mail address is on the back of the card, and she'd answer any questions.

So I'd not intended to spend the entire afternoon downtown, but it just happened, and I was quite happy with the outcome. A fine way to have spent the day, and I wanted for nothing.