pt at large

ART: A Painting and Friendship Deconstructed by The New Repertory Theatre

ART
A Play by Yasmina Reza
Translated from French by Christopher Hampton
Directed by Antonio Ocampo-Guzman
Sets and lights, Justin Townsend, Costumes, Gail Astrid Buckley. Sound, David Remedios

New Repertory Theatre, Arsenal Center for the Arts, Charles Mosesian Theater.
Through Feb. 5. Tickets $28-$58, 617-923-8487, www.newrep.org


“Does this dress make me look fat?”
“How do you like my new hairdo/cut?”
“What do you think of this artwork I just bought?”

Potential landmines. All of them. And in the case of “ART”, playing at the New Repertoy Theatre, that last query leads to questions about three character’s sense of artistic sensibility and their entire value systems. The question becomes that patch of black ice that turns a routine drive around the block into an out of control spiraling spin that changes their lives.

On the surface the premise is great for any of us who’ve ever walked into a pricey gallery, seen a universally acclaimed work of art and thought, “That’s art?” or “What the hell is that?” or “That’s worth $200,000?”

“ART” would probably stand up as an entertaining play with just this concept on its palette. But wow, within ten minutes, the purchase of a piece of art starts plumbing the nature and complexity of friendship between the three men in the cast.

Serge (Robert Walsh) invites his friend Marc (Robert Pemberton) to see his newly purchased painting, what appears to be a 3’ by 4’ canvas of pure white. And it’s the work of an artist highly regarded in the rarified atmosphere of the art world, an artist Marc hasn’t heard of.

Serge paid 200,000 francs for it, he loves it. It’s not clear whether he loves it because of it’s been painted by a famous artist, or that it cost a ton of money and he could afford it, or that his status as a discerning aesthete has been upped a notch.

Marc’s assessment? “It’s a piece of shit.” Game on.  Their mutual friend Yvan (Doug Lockwood) is drawn into the drama and the 90 minutes of the play become a funny and touching intellectual and emotional free for all between the three men who’ve been friends for 15 years.

If you enjoy theater with smart, edgy, dialogue and watching actors totally inhabit their roles, this is a play for you. There’s a “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” scorched earth quality to the way the three long time friends go deep into past resentments, withholds, and petty judgments to bolster their arguments. It’s hard to fathom that a night of infighting like this would not incinerate normal friendships.

Humor helps. Aside from one-liner zingers, the three actors use every device in the book to ham up and diffuse their fusillades aimed at their friend’s soft spots. Their snarky asides, eye rolling, facial contortions that convey sarcasm, scorn, disbelief (mock or real), and body language had the audience guffawing often.

While each man described the painting, I couldn’t help recalling the reviews of wines, the ones hailing the notes of plum, apricot, whatever, in the taste or “nose” of the wine. Where do they come up with these comparisons? One of the arguments of art appreciation is how a piece of art makes you feel, which is as entirely unpredictable as that hint of plum or apricot that might show up in your next glass of Shiraz. But I digress.

Serge (Robert Walsh), Yvan (Doug Lockwood), Marc (Robert Pemberton), and the White on White painting.Photo by Andrew Brilliant

The question remains, whether considering ART or Shiraz: is it good? The average Joe, like Yvan in the play, is satisfied to go with a thumbs up or thumbs down. He has enough drama going on in his life to be bothered with the intellectual strain of deep aesthetic analysis. Serge and Marc, nearly come to blows. For them, and others like them, “understanding” and “appreciating” the art for the right reasons is paramount, a badge of honor and intellectual superiority.

Who are the gatekeepers of what is “ART”? What does it mean about us if we think a work of art is a ‘piece of shit’, not a masterpiece.  Are we stupid, uniformed, uneducated?  Any of us who’ve trotted through an art gallery or museum has had these questions.

The play was inspired when its author, a Parisian named Yasmina Resa, witnessed two friends feud because of their diametrically opposed views of a monochromatic piece of art one had purchased.  Originally written in French and translated for the stage, it’s a wonderful observation on the  complex nature of social relationships, the factors that determine self worth,  and the mystery of the value of a piece of art

There are moments in the play that come across as a PBS show about modern art but they're in service of the characters who have a stake in the arguments. There are no definitive answers but solidly opposing points of view. Ms. Reza leaves it up to us to decide where we stand. The final scene left me feeling that the author was not content with a soft landing and wanted to keep some edge showing. She succeeded.

 

Chile 2012: A Promenade Through Plaza de Armas

January 15, 2012

A lazy mid-summer Sunday afternoon in the Plaza de Armas, Santiago, Chile.

There’s a universal feel to great public spaces like the Plaza de Armas. I’ll bet if you were to have Scotty beam you down to public squares in Rome, Paris, Stockholm, Boston, and other capitals, you’d see nearly the same scene on an afternoon such as this.

People relaxing on sunlit benches or patches of shade, kids feeding pigeons, tourists with maps in hand, vendors pedaling anything that might tempt the passersby and even a group of ardent Evangelists. The people-watching is spectacular, an unending spool of human interest stories in motion or at rest.

  

 

 

The architecture surrounding the square is renowned for its examples of colonial construction including the Palacio de la Real Audiencia (now the Museo Historico), the Correo Central (post office) and the Catedral Metropolitana.

A moment after pushing through the giant doors of the cathedral I am stunned. Auditory static vanishes. I’m engulfed in an ocean of deep silence so abrupt I regress to split second pre-conscious memory of comfortably floating in amniotic fluid.

Every bit of sound inside seems to be sucked into the cavernous space soaring up to the mile-high arched ceiling overhead. Daylight is filtered through stained glass windows. Pencil thin shafts of sunshine poke through dainty round skylights.

The relative silence is so overwhelming that it takes time to register that the silence is not total. I begin to distinguish hushed voices of visitors, occasional uninhibited cries of infants, and echoes of shoes on marble floors. Last to penetrate my range of hearing is the Gregorian chant piped in at nearly subsonic levels, astonishingly refreshing, rooting me in an oasis of tranquility.

My autonomous nervous system is recalibrating. My body downshifts. I am aware of my breathing, the places where I am holding stress, and the level of stimulation I’ve left behind.

We are dwarfed by the scale of the cathedral and the provenance of religion that still clings to it. But this is not a pilgrimage. Some have come to sit and relax, some to sightsee, some to pray. It’s hard not to feel tiny and mortal in the prodigiously huge edifice.

The shock of exiting the cathedral is intense. The jabber and clamor outside startles me as much as the silence on the way inside. It is hard to believe that the world we live in is filled with so much sight and sound, chaos that we take as normal.

Re-establishing reality...commerce and connecting with a local family.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Chile 2012: A Promenade Through Barrio Bellavista

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Santiago, Chile

I have three hours to spend in Santiago while my hostess Susaan Straus attends a birthday party with some of her “Chilespouse”  friends. The options to spend the time are plentiful. My picks for today -   the Barrio Bellavista and the Plaza de Armas.

Later this afternoon Pio Nono, the main street leading into the Bellavista section of Santiago from Banquedano Square, will be jamming – the café tables will be pulled out onto the sidewalk and filled with students and young professionals. At 1 PM on Sunday, the café society has yet to rev up. What is ramping up is the foot traffic over the Maipu River heading straight into the Barrio Bella Vista.

 

Groups of families, and I mean the whole family - fathers, mothers, little kids, the occasional grandparent, a sprinkling of tourists, and groups of teenagers all stroll leisurely down the quiet street that ends in an explosion of activity at the base of San Cristobal Hill.

A digression:
Chileans, especially on a weekend or late afternoon, have walking down to an art form, an act of promenading, casual, slow, and sweet. They savor the moments being out and about. A promenade of ten minutes, 20 min., half-hour, might evolve into an entire afternoon or early evening of leisure. Strollers chat, are free of care for the moment.  Brisk is not in the vocabulary.

The reward at the end of Pio Nono is the entrance to an immense aviary and the funicular that ascends a good sixty degrees up the sheer hillside to the tippy top of San Cristobal Hill to the Parque Metropolitano. On a clear day you can see all the way to the Andes.

The neighborhood used to be a bohemian enclave. Bohemia is losing ground fast to trendy and chi chi places like the Patio Bellavista, prices escalating accordingly. If you look around, you can still find some cool night spots, like the Café  en la Aire, where 2 years ago, I heard a great duo playing blues, in Spanish. Another influence on the growth of the neighborhood is the new Universidad San Sebastian (top photo) built on a space occupied by a sprawling flea market the first time I visited here five years ago.

I only have time for a bare bones walk up and down this street and to quickly poke into the streets along it. Time to head back across the river to the Metro at Banquedano Square. More leisure time awaits at the Plaza de Armas.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Chile 2012: Big Day At The Farm

Chilefarms, the farm owned and operated by Ricardo Ceriani and Susaan Straus
V Region
Nogales, Chile
Nogales is approximately 70 miles north of Santiago, in a fertile valley between the Pre-Cordillieros de los Andes to the east and the Coastal Range to the west. The Mediterranean-like climate is ideal for growing fruits, vegetables, and flowers.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Life on the farm is as busy as it gets today. Along with harvesting corn and blacksmithing Ricardo's rodeo horses, there was lots more activity.

A grass fire along the road near the farm destroyed 600 meters of phone and internet wire. Today, five days later, and three days after I arrive, service was restored to Chilefarms. The internet tech resets the cable box at the farm - we are online again!

Apricots have short season. Pick 'em from the tree near the farmhouse with Susaan and Voila! Apricot Crisp!

There are several other fruit bearing trees on the farm: lemon, walnut, quince, figs, clementines, apple, and avocado.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

 

Chilefarms 2012: A Master Blacksmith Shoes Ricardo's Rodeo Horses

Friday, January 13

Chilefarms,Nogales,Chile, V Region

Preparation for the rodeo is time consuming. Let alone the hours Ricardo practices with his rodeo partner Don Mario Lopez, there is the matter of packing everything in the truck for weekend at the rodeo, this weekend in Con Con, a small beach town several kilometers from Vina del Mar.

The four of Ricardo's horses he will take are well rested. After the blacksmith re-shoes each of them, they are washed down lovingly by Juanito Perez with shampoo and conditioner. Their manes have been clipped and coiffed in the style traditional Chilean rodeo requires. Their thick black tails have been combed out thoroughly, so when they whisk their tails it is a graceful flick that fans and resets every long strand. By the time he is done, the horses smell better than I do.

The blacksmith is an artisan of the highest level. During a period of a few hours, he and his assistant will re-shoe each of Ricardo's rodeo horses. The process is methodical, thorough, and efficient. There are no wasted motions, and no wasted time.

The old shoes our pried off, the nails securing them are pulled out. While his assistant holds up a hoof, the blacksmith deftly cuts away the cuticle growth of each hoof, and files it down so it is smooth and will allow the new shoe to fit well and comfortably.

The blacksmith chooses the shoe of the correct size and weight for each horse, using a micrometer to check for the distance between the open ends of each hoof. With his assistant holding the horses hoof, the blacksmith pounds nails into the shoe carefully, the ends of each nail protrude on the outer side of the horses hoof. Later the assistant will clip off the bitter end of each nail and file it down smoothly.

This process is done every 6 weeks during the rodeo season in the summer. In this winter, the horses are “free,” says Ricardo, no shoes, no practice.

The horses don't fuss one bit as Juan Sanmartino pries, cuts away cuticle growth, files it down to smooth the surface of the hoof, refits new shoes, pounds nails through, and refiles the clipped ends of the horseshoe nails.They're getting a day at the spa and they have the horse sense to know a good thing when they get it.

Teresa and Juanito, Chikefarms caretakers who live in a small cottage next to the barn, have set out Ricardo's ancient wooden stirrups, polished his boots,organized the saddles and saddle blankets. Ricardo picks out his best bridles, reins, bits,and other equine equipment.

By 7:30 AM, Ricardo and his horses will be on the way to Con Con.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

 

Chile 2012: Sr. Pampino's Trucks Haul Choclo from the Farm

Friday, January 13, 2012

Nogales, Chile,V Region

Chilefarms in Nogales was rocking today. Sr. Pampino’s trucks rolled down the gravel road to the barn at mid morning. The produce wholesaler's trucks arrive at the farm on Tuesdays and Fridays to harvest Chilean corn (choclo pastelero),American corn, cantaloupe, and any other crop ready for market. Today, Pampino's men and Ricardo's farm workers team up to pick over 10,000 ears of corn.

Each man grabs four ears at a time. They count the handfuls as they heave them into Sr. Pampino’s truck. At each hundred groups of four, Patricio makes a hash mark for the tally.

Patricio has the pad and is taking the tallies. Don Pedro (in his tan hat) watches him, corrects  him when he makes a mistake.This is the first year Don Pedro has given up the writing of the tally. His mind, however, is as good as any Excel spread sheet. Tens of thousands of ears of corn will be harvested. Don Pedro will be confident the count will be correct.

The system this year has a new wrinkle. Last year, the men carried baskets into the field, filled them, carted them to the bed behind tractor, which hauled it the open area near the barn where they sorted it and threw it into the wholesaler's truck as they counted it.

For the last two days of harvesting, Patricio drives the tractor through the field and mows down a swath of stalks. Men follow along, pick ripe corn on each side of the swatch that’s been run over, as well as corn from the fallen stalks and heave it onto the bed behind the tractor. When the bed is full, tractor and men head for the barn to separate primo (large) from secunda (smaller) corn and load it onto Pampino's trucks.

The verdict: Ricardo prefers to revert to the tried and true system. It’s an open question which method harvests more corn but mowing down the stalks makes it harder to clear the field for whatever is planted next in this field.

The men joke around. Teasing and good-natured banter seems to be the way to make the day go easier. After two weeks at Chilefarms, I am reminded how far removed I am from the food chain and how labor intensive the process is that makes it possible for me to buy fresh fruit and vegetables any month of the year.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Chile 2012: Corn fields, tomato garden, orange groves

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Nogales, Chile, V Region

Chilefarms,owned and operated by my friends Susaan Straus and Ricardo Ceriani, who live here from November to May and in Newton,MA, from May to November. Ricardo was born in Quillota, 12 km from here. He knows this area like the back of his hand. Susaan crunches the numbers, Ricardo oversees the daily operation.

Both jobs require attention to detail and an ability to absorb the uncertainty and unpredictability that are part and  parcel of farm life. After all, they're dealing with Mother Nature; farm equipment that can be temperamental; horses, dogs, cats, and cows that have to be cared for; and a rural culture that operates within its own time honored chronology. Patience is a virtue here, along with its sidekick, persistence.

Internet service is intermittent, uploading can be dicey,  electricity goes down occasionally for an hour or a day or more...so, let's begin with photo essays.

Sacamos Los Hijos

Don Pedro and a co-worker “sacamos los hijos” (“we take the children”). They tear away the ‘suckers,’ the small offshoots from the main stalk. This will promote straight and robust growth of the main stalk and result in better yields of the American corn in this field.  The two men chat away. The everpresent transistor radio attached to Don Pedro's belt streams his favorite Mexican music or news. This relentless two man machine  will work their way through this field till the job is done. Strong backs are essential. Don Pedro's life is dictated by the seasons. He planted the seeds for the corn in this muddy earth, he will prune it, water it, weed it, and harvest it. When the corn has been cut down, he will determine what crop would best be planted next.

 

"Hola, Don Paul!" shouts the man in the field. Amazing. Julio, the man who I photographed last January doing the same thing, greets me with a big smile. Julio, his niece Marcella, and his son Sebastian, use sickles to sever the 6 foot tall,dry Chilean corn (choclo) a few inches from the ground and pile it in sheaves. Rural symmetry is at work. Julio will cart the stalks to his home on the hillside near here and use them to feed his livestock. Ricardo's four regular farmhands can focus on other work, saving time and expense. While I was here, Julio's mother brought Ricardo a wheel of goat cheese as a thank you gesture.

Juan Vila collects the tall thin poles, "colihues", from the bases of orange trees. When the trees were  planted, these poles were like “tutores”, as Ricardo calls them, that kept the navel orange trees growing straight when they were young. They've done their job and will be stored for future use. Hardly anything is used once and done. Everything on the farm, actually everything in rural Chile, can have alternate uses or is stored to use again. This is recycling as it is known in every rural society.

Remember those "colihues"? In the space of one hour, Don Pedro weeds Susaan's tomato garden, drives colihues into the ground, makes an ingenious trellis, ties the tomato plants to it, and is on to the next project.

Don Pedro lives with his family on a plot of land Ricardo and Susaan earmarked for him. He worked for the previous owner, has worked this land for decades, and knows it as well as he knows his own children. He is 70 years old. He has the energy of a man decades his junior.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Bill Ives: A magnet for Louisiana music, food, and culture

My friend Bill Ives, born in New Orleans, is a big time music lover. Now living in Cambridge, MA, Bill incorporates a ton of his business and cultural interests , including a huge helping about New Orleans, in his blog. His grandmother ran the well-known Columns Hotel on St. Charles Avenue in the 1950s.

Bill spent a week in mid-December driving from New Orleans to Lafayette, Eunice, Opelousas, Henderson, then back to New Orleans. He planned a jam-packed itinerary - restaurants, dance halls, museums - even one radio station where he met with Herman Fuselier, radio host with a deep understanding of roots to blues music, entertainment writer, and TV show host, at his office for KRVS in Opelousas.

Bill and I have regular pow-wows before and after our trips to Louisiana. Check out his latest post about his December trip. You'll get an idea of just how much fun he can pack into one week!

Scroll down the "Categories" list on the right side and click on New Orleans and Louisiana to find great photo essays about Louisiana, including all the posts about this one. And stay tuned...there are more to come!

 

Food, Friends, House Parties: A Louisiana Way of Life

15th Annual Carrier Family Dance
Lawtell, Louisiana
January 1, 2012

“How you doin’?” says the man as we walk off the dance floor wiping the sweat off our faces. Chubby Carrier and his Bayou Swamp Band is in the middle of a smokin’ set of Zydeco at the Carrier Family Festival in Lawtell so I’m doing pretty damn well.

I launch into the litany of reasons I love this part of Louisiana. High on the list is the all-encompassing sense of friendliness I feel from people here. "When I was in Lafayette last March, a man in a local bar drew me a map so I wouldn’t get tangled up in traffic on Mardi Gras day."

“That’s the way we are down here,” the man says. “We aren’t trying to impress anyone, I don’t even think we know that we do it.” Surely there are random acts of kindness performed by strangers at home in Boston. There is nothing random about the friendly behavior here.

“I first came down here in 2008 and my life hasn’t been the same since,” I say with a grin. "I didn’t know much about zydeco and cajun music. This week I flew down here  from Boston to dance to it for five days straight!" . And I tell him I never tasted gumbo or po boys or shrimp etouffee before then. “I never ever even heard of couchon de lait. Now I can tell whether or not gumbo has okra in it.”

Ricky Norman’s eyes twinkle. “I was raised in an okra patch,” he says,” with chickens and corn and pigs all around. We put up most of our own food. When I was about nine years old, I remember my father doing “boucheries”, slaughtering three or four hogs and making all kinds of food from them. A local TV station came by years ago to record the event and a museum in Lafayette has photos showing the whole process."

A generation or two ago, boucheries were usually held at homes on a rotating basis, a way to distribute fresh food to the families in the area in a time when country folk had no refrigeration. Boucheries were also social occasions in which tales were told, updates regarding romance, good or ill fortune discussed, and perhaps singing and dancing.

The hog's meat, internal organs, brains, and intestines were all used for some kind of food. Gratons (cracklins) were made by frying the skin, and boudin, sausage filled with hog’s meat and internal organs and rice, still are favorites here (and unknown in Boston). It is said that nothing was wasted in the process of butchering the hog except the squeal.

Ricky put two kids through college while working on an oil rig in the Gulf, two weeks on, five days off.

“My kids found jobs in California and Manhattan,” he says. “They warn me in advance that they want some home cooking when they come home to visit. Every time they leave, they take a cooler of food with them because they say their friends want to try some of the food they’ve heard them talk about.”

“Something else that knocks me out are the house parties people throw around here,” I shout over the music. “Parties I go to around Boston might have ten to twenty people. I just went to a house party yesterday that had over 100 people AND a live band!”

Ricky claps his hands together. “I'm 56 years old.That’s one of the first things I’m doing when I retire!” he shouts. “People throw house parties here all the time. I have a big concrete patio. I’m going to put a roof over it, get some lights going and my wife and I will be holding our own house parties.”

I'll bet that if I had asked for an invitation, he’d have put me on his guest list.

Photo by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Keeping Roy's Dream Alive: 15th Carrier Family Festival

15th Carrier Family Festival
January 1, 2012
Roy Carrier’s Offshore Lounge
Lawtell, Louisiana

Chubby Carrier (far right, accordion) and the next generation, on washboard (left), playing next to washboard player Earl Sally

Directions--go into Lawtell on the one way street, turn right at the first gravel street (McClelland), go over the railroad tracks, immediately turn left onto Perry & go to the club. This will be a fund-raiser for renovations to the club so it can reopen on a regular basis.

These are the kinds of directions you often get in southwestern Louisiana. Roy Carrier’s Offshore Lounge was so deep in the country that my GPS could not find the place. I plugged Lawtell Louisiana in the little black box and headed about 25 miles north from Lafayette. Crossing into Lawtell, I jammed on the brakes when I nearly passed a black and white hand-painted Offshore Lounge sign tacked onto a pole.

Yep, gravel street…there are the railroad tracks…another hand painted sign, then a few hundred yards down the road a dirt parking lot in front of a low, rectangular one story building.  A thin gray cloud issuing from a huge smoker floats under the roof of the overhang in front of the club.  Music is pumping from inside. I’ve arrived.

Lawtell has a population of 174. There are more people than that inside this dance hall.

Zydeco dancers are an eclectic bunch, black/white, young/old, urban/rural, from every social class. They’re also loyal. When they heard that Roy Carrier’s musician sons, Troy "Dikki Du" Carrier and Chubby Carrier wanted to honor their late father Roy by reopening his Offshore Lounge, which had fallen into serious disrepair, they flocked to a 2011 New Year's Day Keep Roy's Dream Alive fundraiser at Slim’s Y Ki Ki in Opelousas. At least ten of the areas best bands played that day for zip. The family raised $6000.

Today, Dikku Du Carrier has a one day permit to open for the Offshore Lounge for a fund raiser.  We’ll dance to Chubby Carrier & the Bayou Swamp Band, Dikki Du & Zydeco Krewe, Dwight Carrier & the Black Cat Zydeco Ro Doggs, Corey "Lil Pop" Ledet, "T" Broussard, and Lil' Pookie.

Dikki Du Carrier needs to raise a serious chunk of cash to pay for a septic system and rebuild according to updated building codes. Today, dance loyalists who've homed into the Lafayette area for New Year's celebrations gladly pay $20 a pop for admission, buy Roy Carrier CDs, T-shirts and fried chicken, red beans and rice, gumbo and BBQ. They also write checks on the spot.

Roy’s family has a long slog to keep Roy’s dream alive – but making dreams a reality was a Roy Carrier specialty. When Roy bought the tumble down roadhouse in 1980, it became a place where he fostered the talents and dreams of some of the best known musicians in Louisiana – John Delafose, Beau Jacques, to name two, and gave young Geno Delafose his first paying gig.

Not surprisingly, Roy's father and uncles were musicians and he began playing with them at age ten and he kept on playing till he died in 2010.

With both of Roy’s sons playing their hearts out on the stage, The Offshore Lounge was showing definite signs of life. In one or two more years,  the place may again become the spot where the next generation learns their chops.

NOTE:
If you would like to contribute to the "Keeping Roy's Dream Alive" cause, write a check to Troy "Dikki Du" Carrier and send to Richard Brainard, 813 SW Alder St. #700, Portland, OR 97205.
As of January 13, 2012, $5500 has been raised toward the goal of $10,000. Read Troy Carrier's letter to learn more about how the Carriers will use the money.

 

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

 

Roy's Offshore Lounge might need repairs but the BBQ being smoked is first class.

 

All kinds of helpers dish out the food/pt with Dikki Du Carrier
 

Chubby Carrier and The Bayou Swamp Band/Dikki Du Carrier's son Troy, Jr. on drums and niece on washboard - the third generation of Carriers to play!

 
Fun on the dance floor...Chubby Carrier arrives to play.

Keeping Roy's Dream Alive: 15th Carrier Family Festival Videos

 

 

 

Tulane President Connects with KIPP Foundation, named one of two New Orleanians of the Year

Tulane President Scott Cowen was named one of two New Orleanians of the Year by Gambit Weekly of New Orleans. The  locally owned newspaper has been publishing for thirty years. Gambit Weekly is one of the most successful weeklies in the country, and the recipient of numerous annual awards for editorial and design achievement.

Tulane University President Scott Cowen has announced a partnership with the KIPP Foundation and Teach For America - a huge investment in New Orlean's future.

The New Orleans school system was a disaster way before Katrina. As in much of New Orleans, recovery is a work in progress. The series I wrote about the KIPP McDonogh 15 School for the Creative Arts gave me a window into the charter school movement and a sense that these schools have a chance to restore faith in public education. One school is certainly a small sample but it was a hopeful one.

According to The Gambit news story,

"In 2011, Cowen signed a first-of-its-kind agreement with the Knowledge Is Power Program (KIPP) New Orleans charter schools and the KIPP Foundation to enroll more KIPP graduates in Tulane — and to place more Tulane teacher certification program students in KIPP schools. He also cemented a partnership between the Cowen Institute and Teach for America to increase the number of Tulane graduates who will teach in New Orleans public schools."

I will revisit the KIPP McDonogh 15 School for the Creative Arts on my next trip to New Orleans.

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2010/09/new-oleans-charter-schools-and-recovery-part-1.html

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2010/09/new-orleans-charter-schools-and-recovery-part-2-1.html

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2010/09/new-orleans-charter-schools-and-recovery-part-3.html

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2010/09/new-orleans-charter-schools-and-recovery-part-4.html

http://ptatlarge.typepad.com/ptatlarge/2011/08/revisiting-the-kipp-mcdonogh15-school-in-new-orleans.html

A “Start Your New Year’s Early Party Party” in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana: Video

 

A “Start Your New Year’s Early Party Party” in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

December 31, 2011
A “Start Your New Year’s Early Party Party” in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana

You didn’t have to guess which house was 116 Van Buren in Breaux Bridge this afternoon. The live music drifting out onto the street told the story. The owner had invited, oh, about one hundred of his friends, and out-of-towners who he’s known from their previous visits, and people like me who he met two nights ago at the Café des Amis.

Maybe it’s the dance community, maybe it’s a Southern Thing, but I’ve no sooner met someone here than they turn to one of their friends and say, “This is Paul, he’s from Boston,” and they bring me into their conversations without skipping a beat. And, damn if they don’t remember me the next time we meet, offer me a seat, a dance, a drink, but above all, a sense of belonging that’s as natural as breathing for them.

My friends Bernard and Rubia, who I met on my first trip here in 2008, told Bart, the owner of 116 Van Buren, that I’d be at the Café des Amis Wednesday night. Bart, the tall guy I’d seen dancing every dance since the minute I walked into the café, walked up to me and said, “You must be Paul,” and handed me a yellow invitation to his house party. That’s the way it goes here.

Al Berard, fiddle, Forest Huval, accordion

I love my hometown of Boston but every time this happens, I feel like Dorothy…”I’m not in Kansas any more.”

In other parts of the world, a steady rain puts a damper on a party. Not here today. We all duck under the roof over the tiny concrete dance floor that also happens to be the patio of Bart’s house. Between the thick rainy air and the density of sixty people vigorously dancing in a space no larger than a living room, I feel like I'm in a school of sardines at a sock hop.

Couldn’t find a baby sitter for your kid? No problem. Bring him/her along. Adults will come by to talk to them and more than likely ask them if they want to dance.

What are the essentials of one of these house parties? A good local band, a covered space attached to or next to your house, tables for the food and beverages (preferably under a little pavilion) the guests will bring, and a portapottie. The guests don’t have to be told to bring lawn chairs – they’re probably stored in the trunks of cars for most of the people who live around here. Yankees take note: these camp chairs have built in cup holders on each arm. Don’t even consider buying one without this feature.

Then there’s the question of dancing. Up north, men are not known to dance at social functions unless under duress from their women or the influence of alcohol. Here a man will dance at the drop of a hat. With as many women as he can find. The women will all say Yes to an invitation. And they will often make a man feel like a winner of Dancing With The Stars. Dancing is one of the languages around here. It’s the way men and women connect. Slow and sultry, peppy and strong, elegant or rambunctious, all dictated by the tempo of the music and the chemistry of the pair.

People here hail from homes two minutes to 2000 miles away. Some of them, like a small group that Breaux Bridge travel organizer Kay Wright has assembled, have never danced a lick of Cajun or zydeco music in their lives. No matter.

No one can resist the infectious beat of Al Berard’s fiddle, and the accordion, drum and guitar player he brought with him today. The new-comers are learning the steps in that happy mass of dancers or are being introduced to Kay’s friends on the lawn. It’s a fair assumption they will be back, perhaps for Mardi Gras.

That would be a fair assumption for me, too.

Photos by Paul A. Tamburello, Jr.

Al Berard, fiddle, Forest Huval, accordion,Keith Blanchard, drums,Dwayne Brasseaux, guitar

Everybody dances...Bart thanks his guests - we thanked him back, big time!

"Would you tell me the names of the men in the band?" I ask. "Sure, says Dwayne Brasseaux, give me your pen and pad."