Columbus Day Weekend

We can't think of a better way to have spent a perfectly cool and crisp Columbus Day Weekend than setting out to discover amazing art on our fair Mount Desert Island!

 First up: A pop-up gallery show of Life Drawings by artist Annika Earley.  As night fell, the bright glow of Annika's show drew local and visiting moths of all shapes and sizes to The Red Barn across from Cafe Thisway.

PAULINE I-IV Graphite on Bee Paper © Annika Earley

Day two: Our Columbus Day Weekend adventure took us oceanside to The Balance Rock Inn where we had the privilege of hearing local authors share original pieces by the shore. With Frenchmen Bay as our backdrop, writers Kelly Dean, Katie DiTuillo, Evan Haddix, and Amy Morley read their original poems and pieces aloud in inspired cadence. We were even so lucky as to view a small performance of Amy's play Anabelle Eden featuring actors Chris and Kateri Candage in full costume!

The day's last light warms Bald Porcupine Island as the setting sun drops  behind Bar Harbor. This beautiful fall evening at The Balance Rock Inn on Frenchman Bay was the perfect way to end a weekend of Art Exploration.

There is a chill in the air.  Fall has most definitely arrived on the Island!	Artist Annika Earley provided lovely seating for our pop-up barn gallery.
A slight wind moves Annika's drawings back and forth lightly, lending her show a breezy feel.	Our lovely refreshments were generously donated by Susanne Hathaway of Café Thisway.
Susanne and 545 & Co. board-member Rachel Sisson.	Guests enjoyed picking favorites.
What a lovely spread! Thank you, Susanne, for the fantastic treats!	Our pop-up gallery was filled with rustic details - rakes, shovels, our treats table was an old door on sawhorses!
Night falls and Annika's show begins to draw a crowd.	Friends, locals, and visitors - everyone appreciates art!
Lemon cheesecake treat.	Has anyone noticed The Red Barn's stained glass before? What a surprise!

What a transformation! Who would have thought they'd ever  see The Red Barn become a lively glowing gallery?

A view of The Balance Rock Inn from our seaside stage.	Writer and contributor Kelly DiTuillo and her fiancé Doug.
Heating up apple cider and setting out snacks. Today's treats: Blondies, Cookies, and Chocolate Truffles!	The afternoon's soundtracks: Patti Page and The Glenn Miller Orchestra
Writer and contributer Kelly Dean.	Actress Kateri Candage reads through her lines as writer and contributer Amy Morley sets out props.
from left: Chris & Kateri Candage and Amy Morley.  Chris and Kateri will be performing Amy's short play Anabelle Eden.	Warm and fuzzy fleece blankets are a nice treat on this chilly fall afternoon- and could you ask for a better backdrop?
Evan Haddix shares a number of original poems and pieces.  His observant spit-fire poetry is best when read aloud, he says. We agree!	Katie DiTuillo's piece Perspective reflects on the brief time she spent in Georgia before moving to Maine.

Perspective by Katie DiTuillo   ACT I Autumn in Athens not Greece, somewhere warmer where cicadas never stop humming their songs and the peaches are supposedly abundant. New semester, new city and I am on a date with a boy I barely know. I wander downtown, a lost child at sea in a shopping mall afraid to cry for help. Finally I reach our meeting place. Under the neon haze of the Forty Watt, I wait. I am sitting, innocently minding my own goddamn business when he appears. Hey lady, got any quarters? He laughs; I smell liquor. I do not want to see his face and be forced to pity him. I stare at my hands, my pathetic pale hands lying in my lap. Without a sound I reach for my purse, manage to extract a handful of spare change. Not even enough for one load of laundry in my dormitory’s shiny new facility. I have to look now. I drop pathetic metal discs into his brown palm wrinkled with age and experience I will not pretend to comprehend. Finally I raise my eyes slowly, carefully, taking in his bulging Adam’s apple, his nearly toothless grin. A nose that overwhelms an otherwise tiny face, and inevitably: the eyes. Shocking bleach-white behind the black and inviting void of iris and pupil. I manage to squeak out a smile. Suddenly his voice choking out words like an automobile that won’t quite start— What’s your name, girl? Thank you so much for the change, you know I’m going to buy myself a Big Mac soon, once I’m hungry again? It’s my favorite! God bless you. I feel my head nodding. He asks if I would like to hear an improvisational once-in-a-blue-moon one-hundred percent original rap song. What else can I do but nod like a bobble head doll? Without warning, he leaps off the bench and onto the sidewalk, his mouth open, my mouth open in horror. My date finally makes an appearance just before the curtain closes.

ACT II Crowds of sorority blondes and men, already inebriated flood the concrete as the man begins. The lyrics do not rhyme, the words are strung along like a lazy August afternoon. I vaguely recall something about urinals and prior glory, but memory fails me as it never fails to do. My date, this blonde and seemingly unassuming boy, can barely move. I am embarrassed. I am standing, lit by those neon bulbs next to the man who is rapping. My date (past tense) stands with the others, stifling laughter, whispering things I suddenly realize I do not want to hear. The rap comes to a chaotic and abrupt end. My newly brave pale hands break the silence with applause. The performer looks around, deep black eyes meet mine and I smile under the streetlights as he shuffles in my general direction. We talk for ten, maybe twenty minutes and I realize that blonde boy is nowhere to be found. I say: I’ll be right back, wait here—please. He shakes his head, smiles a sad, almost toothless grin and takes my hand in his, more gently than expected. When I return he is gone. I think about how he truly appreciated that handful of change and wonder: have I ever sung with such gratitude in my entire life? ACT III Two weeks later, I overhear a conversation: do you remember the man who rapped that same rap every night, who tricked naïve passerby into paying for originality? I fall back against my chair, stunned. But slowly—slowly a kind of peace begins to settle. I saw through him and I would like to think he saw through me.

The House of  Narcissus by Kelly Dean Do Not let it be said That You were recognized there; In the House of Narcissus. The Daffodils are very rude. I was in the corner and I saw you I was the Wall to the left That you leaned on. You are forgiven. But You said it. And your shoes confirmed my Questioning. Do not Remember It again. You're in the House of Narcissus - It's an endless circle of exchange, anyway. Talk to the Person in the mirror, Don't talk to Me; I don't need to be told, I Know. I Am Old.

Many thanks to Susanne Hathaway of Café Thisway for her generous donation of sweet and savory treats and for our Rosé, Red, and Vinho Verde libations.  We owe much gratitude to The Balance Rock Inn for their unique and gracious hospitality (and dryer-fluffed-and-warmed blankets)!

*For a full pictorial tour of our Columbus Day Weekend adventure, please visit our Facebook gallery.