Breathing Room

Not your everyday concert, and you probably had to be there to believe it because seeing or reading about it isn't enough.
The performance of "Sila: The Breath of the World" that took place in  three disparate sites in  Washington recently was a communal event, bringing audiences and musicians together in more ways than one. Composer John Luther Adams, a Pulitzer-prize winner (the accolade always necessary to quote), had been commissioned by both New York's Lincoln Center and the Washington Performing Arts Society to present an outdoor hour-long piece involving singers, brass players, percussionists and strings. It was as much a meditative exercise as, well, music of a kind far different from the norm. The  U.S. Air Force Band did the honors in Washington, minus singers, though a few 'civilians' of assorted stripes wearing plain white shirts and dark trousers were included. Band members turned out in summer gear: short sleeves, long blue trousers, insignia on their sleeves. Saturday afternoon's event - scheduled originally for the Thomas Jefferson Memorial - was moved at the last minute under threat of storms to a second floor open area at the Museum of American History that featured a balcony where a host of musicians stood with blue horns and various  woodwind and brass instruments.
 Two tubas were on the floor below next to a wild array of percussion and strings.  Everybody was in motion, or appeared to be. At one point,  violinists pulled bows across metal bars. Other violinists strolled among the onlookers engaged in the action.. Onlookers walked freely among  musicians engrossed in a complicated computerized score. What appeared to be a spontaneous outpouring of sounds in various registers was actually a carefully calculated score. Each performer was wired to receive instructions about what they should do and how long. Most audience members stood watching in amazement - the ones who weren't seated on the floor with their eyes closed in serene repose. Adams himself sat to one side in a folding chair, hardly moving at all, until the finale signaled by a gradual elimination of instrumental sound, leaving only  public noise in the museum corridors.
"It makes a nice change from John Philip Sousa," remarked one of the band's cellists. i

Tiny Free Library Gets Tagged

 Darren DeStephano of Washington, DC,  has been charming  passersby this year with an esoteric  collection of books left in a handmade wooden  structure next to the sidewalk outside his Capitol Hill home. It sits atop a heavy  post like a birdhouse with a squeaky  glass door, its flat roof an assemblage of green plants.  The interior is a spontaneous library of sorts, filled  serendipitously and often with a raft of reading material available  for free with the understanding that 'you take one, you leave one.'
 His creation is part of a trend, one of several so-called original little free libraries  around town - and around the world, according to the website littlefreelibrary.org that has taken the trend to heart and turned it into a cause.  Its heart worthy mission being to redistribute books  to people in need.  In May a Little Free Library Big Book Access Campaign was on Kickstarter soliciting $50,000 in funds.
Alas for noble deeds, however worthwhile.   Ingenuity does not always square with city rules for "Beautification of Tree Spaces." Mr. deStephano  one day found a note posted in his name on official stationery attached to the door. John Thomas,  associate director of the D.C. Urban Forestry Commission wasn't pleased with this bit of folk art; he considered it a transgressor on public ground, defacing the area around and under the young tree growing beside it. He judged it "Not in compliance with the D.C. Municipal Regulation Chapter I, Title 24, Section 109." What constitutes a better more useful urban tree box is anyone's guess but it certainly does not include candy wrappers, empty bottles and assorted other detritus that ill-mannered citizens often toss into those weed-infested lots.
Mr. Thomas suggested moving the library behind "the back edge of the sidewalk in the parking dimension of your property. This will not require a permit." Parking dimension? Is that another rule we need to know about to live civilly in the city? Does that mean Mr. deStefano can apply for a permit to keep the library in its present position?
The result was a petition of redress by the community. Signatures and email addresses to 'Save Your  Library" filled sheets of paper inside in protest, next to works by William Golding, Machiavelli, Alexander McCall Smith, J.D. Salinger, and others, as well as  old copies of National Geographic and a 2015 calendar labeled a Consumer Guide to Pasture Based Meats and Dairy.
The public had spoken. No further word  from Mr. Thomas. The structure was still in place in mid-July.

A Heavenly Venue for the Arts

So you thought you knew Washington's National Cathedral... but did you see the life-size statues of  Lincoln and Washington in black and white respectively, near side entrance doors, with appropriate symbolic stories in stained glass high above the door?

See a tiny piece of the moon in a very contemporary styled glass window? Fnd the gargoyle of Darth Vader from "Star Wars" among the many stone faces carved by hand throughout? Know that the organ has - truly - 10,000 pipes (ever try to find them all?)?  Estimate that the bell tower  weighs 9000 tons? That all the limestone used comes from Indiana? Learn that the only president buried in the Episcopal Cathedral was a Presbyterian - Woodrow Wilson - whose grandson Francis Sayre ( born in the White House) became one of the institution's longest serving Deans?

Among the many arts on show throughout are priceless examples of wrought iron done by American master blacksmiths,  whose work -  especially gates of great individuality -  are of astounding skill and delicacy? (Among them is the "Good Shepherd" gate by Albert Paley, a very contemporary sculptural piece on the lower level. ) The metal work finally is being honored in a lavishly illustrated book on sale in the Cathedral shop as well as in the National Building Museum. One of the  authors is Barry Bem, a volunteer guide  who wears a gold tie with a delicate design representing the iron and metal work that he proudly shows off to visitors.

Needlepoint  also is found in abundance, including a wall-size needlepoint tapestry illustrating the seals of all 50 American states. The variety of handiwork on the kneeling cushions (" kneelers"), includes one done by Great Britain's Queen Mother in homage to America's role abroad in World War II.  Don't expect Mr. Bem to show it to you, since one, this like some other prized possessions, are hidden away in what he refers to as 'the Cathedral collection."

This stone palace is not just a place for prayer...

Cherry Season's Hidden Helpers

Of all the often peculiar jobs that Washington DC is prone to (esoteric and mind-numbing in their specifications), the one of translator for a chef in charge of large numbers of tourist hordes  must rank as one of the least appreciated.

 But given the surge of outsiders during the spring season, including 'foreigners' from outside our borders,  it should not surprise people to hear about young Marc, of Senegal and London,  a student at Howard University.

Student by day; translator by night - or, rather, the dinner hour, when chef-manager Rob Gilson at Harriet's Family Restaurant (a first-in-class  graduate of the C.I.A. recently employed at the Blue Duck Tavern) handles such large groups of French speakers that he requires from one to three translators. They explain dishes available and answer the usual tourist questions. Groups like these are usually staying at the modestly priced Harrington Hotel, an historic building now in its 101st year.  Dating back to 1914, it is three blocks from the White House, one block to Ford's Theatre, and one block from the F.B.I. Government staff parties take place there in 'off season.'. The Harrington probably is one of the most famous tourist 'sites' that  few locals know about. A timeline of events in American history adorns one of the hotel lobby walls.

One night not long ago, a loud-mouthed French Canadian let go a derogatory  comment  when Gilson happened by the man's chair and, as a favor, picked up the man's jacket that had fallen to the floor. Out came in French a rude expression - something like "get away you American dog"  - no doubt a misunderstanding but nevertheless a shocking retort for a simple act of charity. (Did he think someone was stealing his coat?) Up stepped   19-year-old handsome Marc, a Gilson hire (paid minimum wage plus generous tips),  who  told the man in so many words in French to cool it.

On a better day, chef Gilson in his kitchen whites is prone to tell  waves of French visitors in a joking mood "welcome to the oldest dive in Washington." Nothing too romantic about the place: brown and beige, TVs rattling overhead. But 'dive'? He means it fondly. The French look puzzled, as does  Marc who asks the chef how to translate the word so customers will understand it.

Harriet's and the Harrington get all kinds and always a typical kind of tourist. Recently,  a seven-member jazz band, called Susita,  composed of 10th grade students at  Thelma Yellin High School of the Arts in Israel, were invited to take part in a 'Big Band Jam' in DC.  They perform solo, compose, arrange - and, while in Washington, played the Israeli Embassy  but also Blues Alley,  and on their last night took over Harriet's dining room to give a free  concert open to anyone passing by. Another time an English girls' rugby team was in the house - and, hungry after the day's outing, ate everything in sight.

According to a recent report, the past year was been a banner year for visitors to the nation's capital.  More than 18.3 million, an increase of 5.2 percent, buzzing in swarms around our fabled buildings and monuments. That's a lot of tee-shirts.

DC Kitchens Confidentially

My friend Rob is a sleuth, a  C.I.A. man (graduate of the Culinary Institute of America). Having been both a cook and manager in many  high -end culinary spots in the capital, he knows  secrets - the kind that restaurant critics don't usually  see or write about. Sexism, racism - all the isms at work under pressure backstage where the public is never invited. The beefy Southern Senator who backs a black waitress against the wall for a tryst after dessert in the Senate dining room for instance: whoever sees that?. The same Senator asking that none of his food be 'touched by the niggers in the kitchen.' Mr. Big more or less controlled my friend's job  so should my friend have interfered, talked back, rescued his colleague?

Scene in Georgetown

Isabelle Goetz, owner and chief attraction at Izzy's Salon on M St. in Georgetown, can give you the lowdown on personalities that pass through her fingers. She could if she wanted to but she is basically diplomatic and polite and smart enough to stick to the positive and ignore the negative experiences of her, admittedly highly personal trade.
Sitting under her scissors the other day was the Canadian Ambassador to the US: a tall good-looking man with a gorgeous show of graying hair. Izzy and Mr. Ambassador spent the time laughing together. He seemed to enjoy this time away from what must be the big office desk, the bureaucratic business back on Pennsylvania Ave. It could be why, in part, he comes across town for the experience. The talented Ms. Goetz sweeps her fingers through his hair and then snips and snaps in carefully considered  fashion. How had he heard about this salon and why do many men of his standing seemingly want to come here? It wasn't through his wife, she says; she doesn't know, can't recall a Canadian ambassador's wife on the premises. "Just someone mentioning something," she says, brushing off the VIP allegiance to her handsome well-appointed quarters. Because such a "nice man" as the Canadian isn't alone. The director of the National Gallery of Art has been seen in Isabelle's ("Izzy's") chair., among other titled gentlemen of note.
So what is the secret of her charm not to mention her talent, enough so that prospective US President Hillary R Clinton has been and continues off and on to be another of her clients? Through whom Isabelle met Queen Rania of Jordan when she was in Washington. The queen took a shine to her, hearing that the comely stylist was a passionate motorcyclist like her husband the king. That led to an invitation for Isabelle to travel Jordan's roads on wheels with a friend. And more recently  Ms. Goetz  (known as either Izzy or Isabelle to many others, including Father O'Brien, one of Georgetown University's vice presidents, another regular ) went on vacation for a week in Vietnam where she has a friend with a Harley so she didn't have to bring her own with her.
As a teenager in Belfort, France, she was encouraged early to consider hair styling as a career and started apprenticing as well as schooling in the profession. Determination helped, as did the chance to work in Paris and then soon after with French-born Cristophe who had the Clintons under his hands for a while in California. "Twenty two years in France and 22 years in the US," amazingly she remarks. She is as dual a citizen as you can get.
Some of her skill must have to do with her discretion as well as an ability to create a family on the premises. Her father was one of her helpers when she designed and renovated the salon. At least two other stylists (and colorists) come from the her home town in France and have been with her through the years.  She says she calls herself Izzy to downplay the pretension of a profession that is as competitive and peculiar as they get  - especially in Georgetown.  

Metro Musings, contd.

One never knows what a Metro ride can offer.  While frantic scrambling goes on at the top of the managerial chain, lamentable and sad confusion over who is to run the country's second largest under/overground train system, passengers take what pleasure they can in the offbeat moments during a trip when the greatest mystery may be whether they will get to their destination without mishap. Sitting across the aisle from me on a crossing from Virginia into the District recently was a very distinctively dressed gentleman in a riotous patchwork costume, jacket and trousers, the epitome of creative fashion daringly applied. An original!
It helped that he had a totally free head of white hair, Afro style, and sat plugged into music that kept his multicolored shoes bouncing along in tune to  rhythms only he could hear. He carried a backpack with appliqués, much like his suit; both were composed of dozens, if not hundreds, of different textures and textiles in roughly square shapes and patterns. There was, in addition, a sort of white fur trim around the cuffs. It obviously had been custom made, a miraculous invention. Was he an actor trying out for a part or just someone on a roll? He was most definitely 'comfortable in his own skin' as the expression goes, a nonconformist in a city of buttoned-down blue two-piece suits, joyous and happily unselfconscious in his selectively original mode..