Fact:
Two photos from my series of minimalist Baltimore exteriors will be making their public debut at the inaugural group art exhibition hosted by Maryland Art Place entitled, IMPACT: Baltimore Showcase @ Zeke's. The show opens on Thursday, September 29th and runs through January 11, 2023.
Fiction: (partially based on a true story)
I am fastidious when it comes to daily living, which also applies to art making and more recently, picture framing. I trust Metropolitan Picture Framing in Minneapolis when it comes to crafting the frames for my photography. Their work is exact, consistent and high quality. But the job doesn't stop there. Once I receive Metro's frame I put everything together, which basically relies on two very specific things: 1) Ensuring that the glazing (museum glass) is spotless, which for anyone who has worked with museum glass knows—is not easy, considering both sides of the glass have an anti-reflective coating and one side is also coated with UV protection; the glass is gorgeous, but it's high maintenance; cotton, lint free gloves are a must, and 2) Making sure there are no foreign particles (boogers, hair, flakes of skin, dust) under the glass or on the photograph; a soft, anti-static brush is perfect for this task.
Once I've ensured the above two things, I am ready to screw in the strainers, attach the strap hangers and seal the frame, which I've done before and then turned the frame over only to see some debris under the glass. Fuuuuuck. I hate it when that happens; which is why I am so careful.
When I delivered the two frames to Maryland Art Place I had a silent moment to myself, invoking both Grace and Hope Walk Into a Bar and The Ghosts of Detention with a safe and happy journey to Zeke's, which is a coffee shop located in the neighborhood of Lauraville in northeast Baltimore. I thought about the photographs being hung. Would anybody be wearing white cotton gloves? Oh goodness, my heart started to tremble. I felt like I was sending my kids off to first grade. Nerves. I took a deep breath and whispered my last goodbye, “See y’all on opening night, daddy loves you.”
Dee and I have nightly dance parties.
So far our new neighbors haven't complained. But we are civil, keeping those phat bass lines to a reasonable bump. Our sets last around 10 songs so even if we were a bit ecstatic, it's just a temporary nuisance. Ain't nobody getting hurt. When we are feeling it (you know, butts out, the usual) we often have intimate conversations about our day. On this particular DP we got to talking about the opening reception at Zeke's. How wonderful everything turned out and how lucky we were to have our first Baltimore show go off without a hitch. The show was fabulously curated, full of diversity, and oh how happy we were with the placement of our photos, in an area with nice light, but perhaps a tad bit close to the bathroom. But hey, it's a coffee shop, the vibe is youthful, artsy, caffeinated and intellectual; our kind of people.
After the dance we made a delicious celebratory dinner and then crawled into bed for a quickie crossword puzzle, relaxing in the glow of it all; no worries, it is written, our kids survived their first day of class. My phone rang. I picked it up because it said Maryland Art Place. "Hey, what's up?"
"Hi Michael, sorry to bother you."
I recognized the voice; it was the curator from MAP. "No worries," I said. "Is everything ok?"
"Um, well, yes, everything is fine."
I glanced over at Dee while the curator took a breath. Dee looked back at me with grave concern. I continued listening.
"You see, after the reception was over, the party kind of continued at Zeke's. Everyone was super amped. Really great show. But, you know, um, a couple was making out near the bathroom and it got a bit heavy, in a good way, I mean, kids just having fun and one thing led to another and—boom—The Ghosts of Detention flew off the wall and crashed onto the floor, glass everywhere."
"Oh no,” I said and looked directly into Dee's wide eyes.
"So I just wanted to say I sincerely apologize for this accident and if you'd like to replace The Ghosts with another photo we would love to make that happen—ASAP."
I looked at Dee and didn't take my eyes off her as I deliberately spoke into the phone, "So the photo fell off the wall (pausing to look at Dee), and crashed onto the floor (pausing once again), and it's in pieces?" I held my eyes on Dee.
"That's correct."
I kept looking at Dee. I wasn't smiling. I was expressionless. Like a Sergio Leone western, Dee looked at me, then I looked at her—and then—Dee spontaneously burst into laughter! I started laughing too. It was so joyful. Tears filled our eyes. "I'm sorry, we're just enjoying this moment. What a blessing.”
The curator patiently waited out our catharsis.
I steadied myself while looking directly into Dee's eyes and spoke softly into the phone, "You know, no need to replace that photo, everything is just the way it's supposed to be. This is a city on the verge—after all."
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