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Luxe Ballroom Luxe Ballroom Luxe Ballroom Luxe Ballroom

Pearl Wings, 2014
Solo exhibition, Luxe Ballroom, Spokane, Washington



Luxe Ballroom

The exhibition showcased 40 paintings, drawings and mixed media works by Dario Ré as well as work by fiber artist and designer Drew North. Following the opening, there were four music performances: Particlehead; Adam Price; the newgrass sensation from Bellingham, Polecat; and a performance of Pearl Wings with Dario Ré on guitar and vocals, Phil Pintor on violin, Jackson Cate on bass and Isaiah Crandall featured on vocals for "Song for a Fisherman." Photography by Jessica Jacobson.



Luxe Ballroom

Fiber artist/poet/designer Drew North co-curated the exhibition and MC'd the evening performances.



Luxe Ballroom

Luxe Ballroom Luxe Ballroom



Dario, Jackson & Phil

Dario Ré, Jackson Cate & Phil Pintor



Pearl Wings


I would like to thank Isaiah of Luxe Productions for hosting and catering the event and for his relentless commitment to engaging the arts in Spokane. My partner Maryse, and our children Lucas and Willow for wadding hands-in-hand through every oscillating wave of life in the arts. My family for their continued support of my artistic pursuit. North for co-producing the event and for all of our collaboration over the years; he's the friend of my dreams. Thank you for everyone's generosity towards this event: Phil and Jackson for their musical collaboration, Alan and Jimmy for their expertise in sound, Jessica for photography, Nathan for the video documentation. Aaron and the rest of the Polecat crew for making the trip across the mountains. Dirk Lind and Adam Price with whom we shared the stage. Thank you to those who contributed ideas, equipment and support of all kinds. Thank you to patrons of the arts and those who fed energy to a truly magical evening.


"Ode to Pho 99" by Drew North

You often follow Luxe Ballroom
two crispy eggrolls, and
a cup
of mystery tea,
steaming.
Crisp, cold sprouts,
with jalapeno slices,
lime,
topped with a branch
of basil, waiting
patiently.

Let this be an ode
to your originally
mild manners
and liquid
disposition,
to the time
just
a few winters ago,
you welcomed me in,
out
of the cold.
Your placement,
like an aquiline nose
delivered
to the students, Luxe Ballroom
called for attention,
your sign reminiscent
of a Chinese
junk
or gasoline mart
price endings.
My curiosity piqued,
you invited me
to enter.
So fast was the service,
your steamy vessel
of my desire,
an ocean
brimming with
lusty possibility,
angel-rice hair,
a sublime iceberg, glinting
to one
transfixed
passenger.
Translucent eggshell
pond
of hidden treasures,
small
tofu-chests sautéed
golden, browned,
among the ringlets falling
on submerged shoulders.
Heat rising to
my lips
with essence of basil, floral,
fresh,
an idealistic vegetarian,
watching me
over the cover
of her book.
Watching.

The tofu regime
may never have
ended,
had I
never
left.
But I left.
I fed myself,
for a time,
unknowingly searching
for your pearly smile,
your heat,
your lubrication,
your fleeting satisfaction,
your spice on my lips,
your half-chewed tendrils, Luxe Ballroom
my abdomen,
your simple containment
of necessity and extravagance,
your nourishment.
For these, I searched
other vessels.

We returned to
each other
for company,
for chemistry, gastronomy,
for mouthfuls.

Now, back
with you again,
and reaching deep
into
your
menu,
your book until now
was only scratched.
Number fifteen, for
example,
with eye
round steak,
soft
tendon,
and beef tripe,
its title is on the page,
yet still
unpronounceable.
No matter.
Those are not the
real words.
Meat
is a real word,
and the meat
in our relationship
has only begun.




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