Which explains why, despite my goal of getting an early start tonight, I only managed to make it to two things, starting at 8:30 and ending by 10 p.m.:
1. Theatre Of Truth(s): Within Boundary Or A Ride In The Air
This was one of those cases where I had NO IDEA what to expect--the abstract image on the postcard was as vague as it was beautiful, while the brochure had me thinking this was some sort of ithree-hour-long nteractive multi-media performance environment/happening/whatever--and the location (for the first weekend only) was a studio I'd never heard of on Linwood Avenue. I actually enjoy this sort of mystery: getting in the car and seeking out some unfamiliar destination, not having a clue what I'll find when I get there.
So I kind of hate to spoil some of the intrigue for those of you who share this taste for adventure--but I'm going to do it anyway, for the benefit of everyone else, who likes a liiiitle bit more explanation. "Theater of Truth(s)" is an eleven-minute video installation by Ella Joseph. And "Scenoart Studio and Gallery" is the artist's home. (Next weekend, the piece moves to Hallwalls--where I have a hunch it may be ever so slightly less exciting, if only because that weird sense of intimacy you get from walking into a stranger's house, hearing people cooking and eating dinner in the background, won't be there.) If you want a least a hint of surprise to remain, skip the next paragraph.
The piece is the essence of simplicity: projected video of parts of a body in an abstacted landscape, very school-of-Bill-Viola. What makes it most interesting to me is not the image or the accompanying soundtrack, but the way these elements are presented: headphones dangle from the ceiling, alongside IV drip bags, each containing a single live fish. It's a simple, very arresting image, and while I'm not entirely sure what it means in the strictest sense, I can definitely identify the feelings it evokes in me, from initial amazement to mild creepiness to admiration for its elegance.
2. Something to Say
The "earth's daughters" writers' collective was probably one of the first local cultural institutions I was aware of when I moved to Buffalo in 1982, so I associate it with the era of Black Mountain II College at UB, Yeast-West Bakery, the North Buffalo Co-Op, Emma Books, and other long-gone reminders of WNY's post-hippie era. (I'm not implying any direct connection between the writing group and these other fabled anti-institutions, just suggesting a context.) I confess I didn't realize the group was still around, so their current cycle of readings during the festival provides us all with a chance to catch up with them.
It's been a while since I've attended a straightforward poetry reading (okay, a poetry reading with banjo accompaniment and audience-participation chants of "avocado! avocado! avocado!", but still), and I'd largely forgotten how closely they tend to resemble old-school folk--er, acoustic music--concerts: longish background stories preceding/explaining the poems, polite applause after every piece, no matter how brief, and so on. But this is not to suggest that e.d. is stuck in the 70s: there was a pretty wide range of styles presented by the ever-changing stream of readers, much like the annual "Urban Epiphany" event, in this case moderated by Ryki Zuckerman and culled from her colleagues, students, and fellow travellers. Some of Friday night's writers had never read in public before; others have been active on the scene for decades. Their subject matter ranged from, y'know, the personal to the political, with plenty of overlap. We heard love poems, anti-war poems (one beautiful one linking the debacle in Iraq to the October Surprise Storm and vice versa), a nice evocation of female masturbation, a followup poem about the public response to that nice evocation of female masturbation, funny poems, sad poems, and all manner of other things. I wish I'd taken notes about who wrote what, quotable quotes, and other descriptive details, because as I write this seven hours later, it's all kind of a blur. A nice blur, mind you--a blur of powerful images and powerful voices (Joyce Kessel comes to mind in both of those departments, though there were others who impressed me as well whose names I didn't get)--but a blur all the same. It was hot and the lights flickered a lot. And it finally dawned on me that the woman I know as M. C. Vendetta is actually the daughter of Robin K. Willoughby, a name I recall from that bygone era I mentioned earlier. Turns out young Jana W. literally grew up around earth's daughters meetings, and it was a rare treat to see her in this tamer setting than the noisy bars and sidewalks where I'm used to seeing her. I assumed she'd bust out some of her Vendetta moves, but instead she read two capital-p Poems in a style utterly unlike her hiphop/slam/street-poet persona. I loved both of them, and they brought a whole new level of depth to her obvious skills as a wordsmith and performer.
(Note: the lineup of these readings will change from day to day, with a mix of new and returning anchor readers plus, I assume, more newbies each time--just like the issues of a poetry magazine.)
From there, I went to a party, and then home, where I won't be for long before heading out again for what promises to be a wild weekend: Garden Walk by day, Infringement by night. I love this town!
Amount spent on admissions for the evening (1 installation, 1 group reading): $0
(No collection taken at the former; arrived late at the latter and left early, so if a hat was passed, I missed it.)
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