Category: Lopsided Observations

The abandoned Central Bank building on State Street is an absolutely perfect venue for “The City Is Asleep And Dreaming,” a building wide set of installations and performance art organized by Jason Bernagozzi and Evelyne LeBlanc-Roberge. We had a little trouble getting in the door last night. That too may have been part of a performance piece. A piece of red duct tape on the lock had worn thin and the dead bolt was keeping the door shut so we knocked for entry. This formerly grand section of town is still creepy but I have faith that it is only sleeping. Jason’s piece is stunning, the setting, the sound, the movement, the whole package. Evelyne’s two video projections on glass doors in this same chamber are otherworldly and beautiful. Remember Init Two?

Onward. First Friday comes but once a month. My father told us about a show at the Axom Gallery on Anderson Avenue of recent paintings by Kurt Moyer entitled, “The New Arcadia.” Kurt’s oil paintings of bathers in woods-like settings combine touches of early Picasso chunky figures, Cezanne’s bather paintings and Maxfield Parrish’s color sense with luscious paint handling. My father had run into Kurt in the woods off Westfall. Kurt was painting Mayflowers and my father, who often paints and sketches in the woods, was cataloging leaves and tree types.

A few more stops and we were home in time to watch “Gerhard Richter Painting.” We were prompted to watch it by an Angel Corpus Christi’s post. I knew I would love this because I love his paintings. I did a portrait of him a long time ago when I was painting my favorite artists. I threw his away because he looked like Henry Kissinger. Whether abstract or near photographic, his paintings are jaw-droppingly beautiful. I was struck by how he paints, blank canvases hung on white, gallery-like walls, and the way he works on multiple paintings at once. I loved his answer to how he knows when to stop. “When there is nothing wrong with the picture.” I don’t really care about the man behind the work but Gerhard seems like a likable chap. I loved his German assessment of the American openness, how they tell you exactly what they think.

Hard to believe how many mouse turds we found in an insulation packed short knee wall under the stone ledge in our living room. A short brick and mortar wall carried copper pipe that circulated water from our boiler but it pooped one winter when the heat went off while a previous owner was in sunny Florida. We heard all this from the neighbors after we we bought the house and after I opened a shut-off valve in the basement below and quickly spotted water gushing from the ceiling.

I talked to Clarence, the man that built our house in the late forties and who recently died at 100, and he said it should be a pretty simple job to fix this thing. Simple for Clarence maybe but a circular saw, chisel and shop vac can really make a mess in your living room. With encouragement from our heating guy and the can-do willpower of Pete Monacelli we were able to find the weak spot where the copper popped. That ledge by the big window, the coldest spot in our living room, will once agin be the warmest spot in the house, the way Jackie and Jill, who grew up in our house, described it.

One of our neighbors converts his mower/tractor to a leaf picker upper in the Fall. He sucks up the leaves and makes an incredible racket but he complains about his neighbor who takes every opportunity to get out there with his gas powered leaf blower to keep his lawn spotless while surrounded by woods. And there I am up on the roof with our electric blower. I wear headphones with no cords coming out of them to cancel the noise. They pretty much silence the world except the ringing in my ears.

Pete Monacelli is my favorite drummer in Rochester. He has a gentle touch and he is at home on just a snare if need be. He plays three times a week in three different groups but his favorite gig is the one he does on Sunday evenings at the Beale. This guitar-less quartet plays standards and swing. Ethan Lyons plays tenor, Mike Patric plays bass and Gian Carbone from John Coles Blues Band plays piano. We stopped by last night with Jeff and Mary Kaye and ordered three servings of collard greens . They came with pork in them and Peggi and were the only ones who would eat that. I brought the rest home but it didn’t look too good this morning. The band sounded really great and Custom Brew Craft’s IPA was nice.

At nine we checked out the Compline at Christ Church. I had never heard the word compline before but I trusted Jeff’s intuition that this might be good. The compline was originated in the fourth century as a monastic custom of devotion before retiring and it is now described as a service to the community where art and liturgy are seamlessly interwoven. With all of the beautiful reverb in this hall I would say the art easily outweighed the liturgy. OK, I did recognize the English language Lord’s Prayer but the rest was something beyond words. The candle light service was about forty five minutes long and was closer to meditation than performance. The choral group, made up of parishioners as well as faculty and students of the Eastman School of Music, specialize in Renaissance and Baroque music so the weekly program changes. This could become a habit for us.

We hear through the grapevine that a bow hunter shot a deer in the nearby woods. This deer didn’t die immediately so the hunter tracked it to Conifer Lane off Hoffman Road where a cop spotted him and arrested him. We suspected it was someone we know who lives down there but when we asked him about it he said he was fifty miles away bow hunting legally. Shooting at deer around here is not even hunting. This area is like a petting zoo.

My neighbor, a former chemist at Eastman Kodak, was helping me get the street wood splitter started the other day. Just making small talk before all the racket began though I asked him if he was going to watch the debate or the baseball final and he said he would probably go back and forth. He had just read an alarming article in Scientific American about the accelerating speed of man-made climate change and he wondered if the topic would come up in the last debate. It didn’t. They have too much bullshit on their plates.

We got so busy with summer we hardly noticed it was almost over. We were sort of surprised to see this much color in Durand Eastman Park. We’re thinking maybe summer started so early this year that it might just be exhausted.

There is such an incredible bounty of fresh fruit and vegetables now at the Public Market the non food items provide an attractive foil.

Connie Deming rang our bell this morning at 11 or so and caught us still in our sleep gear. She was was looking for our neighbor, Rick, and he told her he was across the street. He was on our side of the street but he was in the house next door because he bought the place when the original owner died and he’s fixing it up in order to rent it out on September 1st.

He’s scrambling to meet this deadline so we offered to help. We picked a color for their bathroom, our new favorite, gray, and we painted it. He’s hired a local contractor to put a cork floor in the basement and we heard him down there, music blaring, saws whirling and lots of one sided dialog.

First we’d hear the saw and then, “You have got to be kidding me!” Then the saw and “Did I do it again?” “I did it again!”

We wanted to change the color of a room in our house and picked out a grey color at Home Depot. We must have considered a hundred grays before we settled on the right one. The kid behind the counter looked like was skipping school but he came off like a real pro when we asked him a few questions. They have made some big strides in the paint world since our last project. He offered to mix a tiny can of our color as a sample for three bucks. That’s a nice new feature. And when we asked about priming some bare wood he told us that a primer was built right into the paint. Latex paint on raw wood. And it covered in one coat. I got some on my arm and it’s still stuck there even after swimming.

This entry sounds exactly like one of the spam comments I get for my blog. From people like john@behrpaintproducts.com.

I know wood burning is not environmentally cool but solar heat is not gonna work around here especially because we are surrounded by trees. This is a “mature” neighborhood as they say. Not every neighbor burns wood but most do so there is a bit of competition for the downed trees. One of our neighbors has three dogs and she comes by with one and then the other two (they don’t all get along) everyday. She spotted a fallen tree on the next street and told us about it, even introduced us to the neighbors, so Peggi and I dashed over and came back with five loads of red oak. A good score. The people watched as we rolled the logs up in to our vehicle and later asked the dog walkers if we were “hippies”. They thought we were “very industrious”. I didn’t think those two things went together.

This morning while we were reading the paper a huge truck came down our street with a wood chipper trailer in tow. It was a tree service hired by the power company to clean up the branches growing within their airspace, four feet in any direction and ten feet above the power lines that weave their way through the trees. They used to clean up the lower hanging cable tv and telephone lines but now they ignore those and just concentrate on the electric lines. It apparently isn’t worth it to the cable and phone companies (one in the same in many cases) to chip in and have these guys clean up their lines too. That tells me what I already knew. Cable tv and land phone lines are on the way out. Modern developments have all this infrastructure underground. But what about our internet service that comes through those lower lines? Is a wireless connection in our future?

We asked the tree guys for the big stuff and they said, “No problem. It makes our job easier.” Since we asked and our wood burning neighbors didn’t, would it be ethical for us to take the wood that through our intervention was spared from the wood chipper, even if it was trimmed from their tree? How about if the branch was in our air space? Is it rightfully ours anyway? This might be a question for “Dear Rich.”

The sign on a giant ice cream cone along Route 31 read “Welcome LDS.” My dyslexic eye always does a double-take with those three letters. Claire and Kerry had organized an outing to the 75th annual Hill Cumorah Pageant and they only got a few takers but Peggi and I are easy. We even saw Mel Gibson’s “Passion of the Christ” in the theater.

The pageant takes place outside of Palmyra, New York, about thirty minutes from Rochester, where Joseph Smith found the golden tablets in 1838. His translations of the inscriptions on these tablets became the “Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” I learned all this in the Visitors’ Center and found the subtitle interesting. It is just “another testament.” What the heck. This one has Christ visiting America, just after his crucifixion, where he healed the sick and chose twelve more disciples, all-American disciples. As a former Catholic (I realize there is no such thing) I was surprised to find it no more whacky than any other organized religion.

This was the third time for Claire and Kerry and they told us the parking arrangement was all new this year. They used to park across the street and and a whole protest scene had grown up around the pageant where you had to walk a gauntlet to get to the outdoor theater. The protesters are still an integral part of the festivities. They shout disjointed, mostly right wing (further right wing) evangelical, messages through bullhorns and hold signs advertising AskWhyWeLeft.com. Someone was driving a truck back and forth with WhatMormonsDontTell.com painted on the side in huge letters. One angry agnostic was yelling, “You don’t need religion. Save yourself.”

It is impossible to shut out the protests so they became a part of the show. The open field parking lot is wired for sound with speakers mounted high on poles playing the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or what sounds like loud funeral home music, all in an attempt to drown out the protests. It is a surreal experience just walking to the pageant grounds. The cast members, in full meso-american biblical costume, greet you with disarming smiles. I felt like I must have something permanently wrong with my face.

This trippy, Woodstock-gone-Stepford atmosphere makes the pageant itself a bit of a letdown. The sound system and lights were state of the art and as good as Furtherfest but the play is entirely lip-synched. The parking lot was jammed on the way out so Kerry and I headed to the woods to relieve ourselves. A protesters plea rose above the din. “Time to get off your high horse Mormons!”

OK, we were earlier than we had be to line up for the French Miles Davis “Bitches Brew” era band, Mederic Collignon, so why wouldn’t a city bound golf nut choose to entertain the queue with mime golf? They were outta sight btw.