Crested Butte, Colorado, has a robust arts community. While we were visiting, we spent much of Saturday downtown at the arts festival, where artists from all over the country displayed their wares. Some of the art was just okay, but some was really interesting and pretty. Of course I found something purple - a "silent oboe," according to the artist. It looks lovely on my office wall, especially because it is now surrounded by a Georgia O'Keeffe print and a little handmade card bearing one of my life's mantras: "Cinderella is proof that a new pair of shoes can change your life."
As we were exploring the festival, we found the beer and wine tent. The tent had a "no waste" policy, which meant that we paid $15 for a metal glass full of wine, and I do mean full, and then all refills were $5 each. The only down side was that we had to stay in a fenced-in area while we imbibed. The forced imprisonment turned out to be just fine, however, because musicians entertained us as we drank cool wine on a hot summer day.
My favorite was a woman who played the electric violin and was accompanied by a man on a very interesting instrument: a cajon, which is a box-like thing.
The percussionist sits on top of it and plays rhythm on the box's body. The placement of the percussionist's beats on the box determines the timbre of the sound emanating from it. This guy also played a high hat cymbal with one foot and a tambourine with the other. It was fascinating as well as beautiful. The violinist played classical music, some ethereal-sounding Mideast folk songs, and even a few jazzy tunes. We could have listened all day.
But art called, and so we drank our wine and continued our sojourn down the closed-off main street. We found a photographer from Springfield, Missouri, a city a couple of hours away from both my home town to the south and the town where we now live to the north. Her technique is interesting, but I was unable to fall so in love with any of her stylized photos that I had to take one home. Eventually, we went back to our hosts' home and prepared for another trip downtown, this time to eat sushi and attend a jazz concert at a cool little fine arts center.
Though I am a "foodie," I had never eaten sushi - raw fish and rice and the other things that go with it - because it seems to me that raw fish should be eaten somewhere close to the fish's home. Missouri just is too far away, as is any other place we visit. However, our friend is a doctor, so I figured if anything were to go wrong, he could make sure that I lived through it.
We asked him to order our dinner, and I was very surprised to find that I enjoyed just about everything I put in my mouth. I didn't put eel in my mouth. I don't know. There's just something about an eel.
After dinner, we had some time to kill before the concert, and so we hung out at the fine arts center that was hosting a month-long music festival. As we were enjoying the lobby, I heard piano scales coming from the auditorium, and so I followed the sound and found myself in front of a pianist who was playing scales the way my college piano teacher wanted me to play them. I never quite got there, but this woman was showing me how it should be done. When played skillfully, even scales can be beautiful. She explained that she was getting ready for a free concert the next night, warming up, and getting used to the touch of the piano. I understand. Playing a piano that is "different" can be intimidating, especially if the action is different - meaning that the keys are harder or easier to push than the keys on my piano, the one on which I, um, practice. 😏
Eventually, we got to the part of the evening I had been anticipating - a jazz concert presented by two musicians I had never heard of. Both had traveled from Denver where they both studied and taught; the pianist was originally from Cuba, and the clarinetist/saxophonist was originally from New York. Of the two, the pianist was better - he played with passion and precision. The clarinetist, however, was having a bad night. He squeaked about as often as I did when I was in high school, and as he continued to do so, he became more and more frustrated. His frustration caused more squeaks, and, well, you get the idea. Regardless, the music was worth hearing, and I was thrilled to be at a real concert in a very intimate setting.
Eventually, we headed back to our home away from home to get some shut-eye before we began our slog back across Kansas the next day.
As we were exploring the festival, we found the beer and wine tent. The tent had a "no waste" policy, which meant that we paid $15 for a metal glass full of wine, and I do mean full, and then all refills were $5 each. The only down side was that we had to stay in a fenced-in area while we imbibed. The forced imprisonment turned out to be just fine, however, because musicians entertained us as we drank cool wine on a hot summer day.
My favorite was a woman who played the electric violin and was accompanied by a man on a very interesting instrument: a cajon, which is a box-like thing.
The percussionist sits on top of it and plays rhythm on the box's body. The placement of the percussionist's beats on the box determines the timbre of the sound emanating from it. This guy also played a high hat cymbal with one foot and a tambourine with the other. It was fascinating as well as beautiful. The violinist played classical music, some ethereal-sounding Mideast folk songs, and even a few jazzy tunes. We could have listened all day.
But art called, and so we drank our wine and continued our sojourn down the closed-off main street. We found a photographer from Springfield, Missouri, a city a couple of hours away from both my home town to the south and the town where we now live to the north. Her technique is interesting, but I was unable to fall so in love with any of her stylized photos that I had to take one home. Eventually, we went back to our hosts' home and prepared for another trip downtown, this time to eat sushi and attend a jazz concert at a cool little fine arts center.
Though I am a "foodie," I had never eaten sushi - raw fish and rice and the other things that go with it - because it seems to me that raw fish should be eaten somewhere close to the fish's home. Missouri just is too far away, as is any other place we visit. However, our friend is a doctor, so I figured if anything were to go wrong, he could make sure that I lived through it.
We asked him to order our dinner, and I was very surprised to find that I enjoyed just about everything I put in my mouth. I didn't put eel in my mouth. I don't know. There's just something about an eel.
After dinner, we had some time to kill before the concert, and so we hung out at the fine arts center that was hosting a month-long music festival. As we were enjoying the lobby, I heard piano scales coming from the auditorium, and so I followed the sound and found myself in front of a pianist who was playing scales the way my college piano teacher wanted me to play them. I never quite got there, but this woman was showing me how it should be done. When played skillfully, even scales can be beautiful. She explained that she was getting ready for a free concert the next night, warming up, and getting used to the touch of the piano. I understand. Playing a piano that is "different" can be intimidating, especially if the action is different - meaning that the keys are harder or easier to push than the keys on my piano, the one on which I, um, practice. 😏
Eventually, we got to the part of the evening I had been anticipating - a jazz concert presented by two musicians I had never heard of. Both had traveled from Denver where they both studied and taught; the pianist was originally from Cuba, and the clarinetist/saxophonist was originally from New York. Of the two, the pianist was better - he played with passion and precision. The clarinetist, however, was having a bad night. He squeaked about as often as I did when I was in high school, and as he continued to do so, he became more and more frustrated. His frustration caused more squeaks, and, well, you get the idea. Regardless, the music was worth hearing, and I was thrilled to be at a real concert in a very intimate setting.
Eventually, we headed back to our home away from home to get some shut-eye before we began our slog back across Kansas the next day.
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