| Copyright Times
Publishing Co.
Mar 6, 2004
Ah, Tampa,
City of the Arts.
This is what
we want to become,
and one of the
first steps in
this steep ascent
is the revival
of the Artists
and Writers Ball,
that wild and crazy
party at the Cuban
Club that lives
on in the memory
of Tampa bohemians
of a quarter century
ago. Those artists
and writers, intellectuals
and hangers-on
are now the bourgeois
and one, Paul Wilborn,
is the city's manager
of creative industries
- a title straight
out of the former
Soviet Union. So
it's no surprise
that the new incarnation
of the ball costs
$85 a head. It's
a fundraiser for
a good cause, but
don't expect artists
and writers to
be there - unless
they have a big-bucks
day job.
The really good
news is artists
throw really good
parties for free.
Last weekend
we went to one
in an industrial
park on Anderson
Road. It was so
far off the beaten
track a friend
of ours drove over
during daylight
just to make sure
where it was. It
turned out to be
easy to find, and
while the neighborhood
isn't pretty -
do you think New
York's meat packing
district is pretty?
- inside there
was art. And champagne,
scallops in the
shell and flat
bread pizza on
a long table from
Pane Rustica, where
we'd picked up
a slick announcement
near the cash register
a month ago. Two
tall, thin women
in black who looked
like models circulated
with trays of seared
tuna, shrimp and
chicken satay.
The
space is usually
the working studio
of Dr. Doodle,
whose company creates
graphics and murals
and antique faux
finishes you've
seen around, in
Maggiano's, the
Palm, the airport.
Last weekend it
was transformed
into a gallery
space for Dr. Doodle's
premiere as abstract
expressionist R.
Francis. That isn't
exactly his name;
it's his first
initial and middle
name. A friend
introduced his
wife to me as "Mrs.
Doodle," but that
was just for fun.
At any rate,
the thrice-named
artist hung 25
paintings with
titles from Tweety,
the Catalyst -
the first one to
sell, he said -
to Father, a huge
gray and black
painting that incorporates
nails and priced
not to sell at
$12,000.
People
milled around,
eating, drinking
and talking.
R. Francis was
friendly, open
and engaging and
not the least bit
elitist about his
work, asking us,
as we stood in
front of a painting, "What
does it look like
to you?"
Two weeks ago
on a chilly Thursday
night, we went
to Bleu Acier,
in a former commercial
building that is
now art gallery,
performing arts
space, print shop
and home for Erika
Greenberg Schneider
and her 8-year-old
daughter, Esther.
It's on a not-lively
stretch of Columbus
Drive in Tampa
Heights. There
are no windows
in the front of
the building, no
sign and at first
glance no door,
so we drove right
past it. It's next
to a Pentecostal
church, which I
knew, so the second
time around we
spotted it. We
directed a young
woman driving around
lost, who turned
out to be a student
of Dee Moses, the
principal bassist
with the Florida
Orchestra. He was
giving a mini-concert
there.
Inside we had
good wine - not
jug, and a small
card that said
donations were
appreciated. People
wandered around
talking and looking
at the work of
several artists,
including Erika's
husband, Dominique
Labauvie. She told
us the history
of the incredible
antique printing
presses she brought
back from France,
and we complimented
her on the building
renovation, during
which, she said,
the back wall and
ceiling fell down
on her.
Dee Moses played
several short pieces.
A few were his
own compositions,
two of them written
for his wife, dancer
and choreographer
Elsa Valbuena.
Dee answered questions
about his instrument,
the double bass,
and if that doesn't
sound dull I don't
know what does,
but, in fact, it
was fascinating.
Erika invited
us to stay, drink
more wine - and
come back next
time.
No one rushed
for the door.
- Sandra Thompson,
a writer living
in Tampa, can be
reached at tampa@sptimes.com.
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