“Oh, That’s Not Jesus,” Said the Statuesque Blonde
Friday after work, my colleague Jen and I went to the collective show Artomatic (2121 Crystal Drive, Arlington, VA), conveniently located across the street, to support two of the talented people we work with, Mal Jones and Chris Bishop.
Artomatic is a sprawling multimedia arts event that “happens” for about a month every year in a building destined for gutting somewhere around the District. We found our way to Mal’s (coy) koi installation and then threaded our way through the hallways to view Chris’s pretty girls and robots.
(You can support Mal and Chris online, particularly in shirt form. The models wearing Mal’s shirts (Abby, Nina, and Matt) are also beguiling PBS employees.)
Artomatic occupies the entirety of the sixth and eighth floors of the building and is so large I would have wandered aimless as a cloud; fortunately, Jen has a crack sense of direction, and we circled back to the PostSecret exhibit and met Frank Warren, the artist who collects postcards mailed to him with secrets and posts and then publishes them. Widely imitated, PostSecret began as an Artomatic installation in 2004, and the postcards continue to be mailed…
“This is what I received today,” Frank greeted us; “help me open them.”
“Really?” Jen said.
“Of course,” he returned.
I already respected the project—I discovered how much it resonates with college students this past fall when I taught Media Studies again at the University of Virginia—now, after opening some of the postcards, I feel I am part of the project too.
I thought about community-generated art as I looked out the windows of the metro and then my window seat as the plane landed in Pittsburgh. Outside in the ground transportation area, Dad instructed me to look for the “Lady in Red,” his code name for Mom, and once with her, the official family vehicle of the weekend appeared.
Back at the hotel, I pulled my suitcase out of the Explorer’s trunk and Katrina shouldered her knapsack and then reached for her garment bag. The brand, I believe, was Hefty. Nothing. But. Class.
Saturday morning, we drove to Mellon arena for Kassandra’s graduation.
I felt we might have been able to navigate by the large, impressively stylized statue on the street in front of the arena that Kassandra informed us was not Jesus, and was instead made in the image of a dedicated preacher of that parish. Seminary students, take heart! (Amanda, my friend, best of luck.)
Photo ops in front of the arena felt a little strange, as Kassandra and Katrina attempted to place themselves between promotional posters of hockey players and the ATM.
And then the tassel debate began.
In an inspired effort at crowd control, Point Park hosts a commencement brunch for graduates and their families; graduates slip away half an hour into the brunch to line up for the ceremony.
Kassandra and Katrina were quite taken with the cake and the enthusiastic cake server; they formally toasted to the grandeur of it all with punch.
Kassandra waved and walked into the crowd;
Katrina and I went back outside and talked about all that has happened in the four years Kassandra has been at the Conservatory of the Performing Arts. We have always liked visiting her, and one of our favorite Pittsburgh pastimes is to find a new favorite building before her performance. We chose this one with pink windows outside the arena.
Walking back, we were elated to discover that the Spartan Cheerleaders were also in attendance (the stickers are so clever, matching one of the sports Craig and Ariana would cheer).
Katrina decided that, as the Taylor Family Singers, we needed to participate more in the ceremony and noted this in the program.
(We graciously ceded the song to the University Singers, who were originally scheduled to sing; their performance recalled the ending of Liza Minelli’s unforgettable rendition of “Imagine.” This was their time.)
I have never been prouder than when Kassandra appeared on the JumboTron for her Outstanding Senior recognition (this actually may have been when she won the Academic Achievement Award for her department—she has been tapped for half a dozen awards in the past two weeks so I’m having trouble keeping track).
After a ceremony during which the entire Dance department processed barefoot to receive their degrees, then somehow inflated beach balls that appeared after the tassel turn and kept them aloft, (at that point, I was prepared for anything, including a surprise musical number,) we found Kassandra ready to take off the cap and head for the airport.
Dad found a new favorite building as we drove (I was only able to snap this as we hit a red light—he prides himself on successfully executing ambitious travel schedules and I almost missed my flight).
Katrina and I were thoughtful as we unpacked at the curb, wondering when we would see the graduate next;
Kassandra heads to San Francisco next month as a counselor for Alonzo King’s LINES Ballet summer program, a marvelous company.
Congratulations, Kassandra, on your many awards. I am in awe of your choreographic ferocity, your dedication to service in the Pittsburgh community, your leadership in the Point Park community, your wicked stage presence, and your biceps.
Even more importantly, you have already achieved one of the greatest feats—not taking yourself too seriously.
The full Flickr set is here.
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Posted Sunday, May 6th, 2007, 8:43 pm | Filed in Books, Photography, Travel. Follow responses through the RSS 2.0 feed. Leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
May 7th, 2007 at 2:37 pm
Wow. The JumboTron? You must be so proud.
The ladies Taylor look lovely, as usual.
May 7th, 2007 at 2:40 pm
Thanks, Dana. Look forward to catching up this weekend—