Month: March 2005

Who among us didn’t believe, just a little bit, that our toys led secret lives, either while we slept or when we’d left the house on a quiet Saturday afternoon? The toys in Nygren’s paintings leave the domestic sphere altogether, traveling to new places while fixed in a state of “objectness.” Rendered in rich hues, his oil-on-canvas still lifes and scenes of elephants flying over various rural landscapes are imbued with a sense of calm, beautiful absurdity. 3012 Lyndale Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-344-1700; www.flanders-art.com

A lot of talented calligraphers lost their jobs back in the fifteenth century, once the printing press came into vogue; their vocation has, alas, never recovered from the blow. But Donald Jackson is lucky. Not only is he Queen Elizabeth’s official scribe, he’s also been commissioned to create the first new handwritten Bible for the modern age. He is relying chiefly on the same materials and techniques that his colleagues used in the Middle Ages, but is also making use of computer-assisted illuminations that incorporate flora and fauna native to Minnesota for divine inspiration–Eden as a prairie, if you will. Sixty pages of this modern masterpiece are on display for this exhibit. 2400 Third Ave. S., Minneapolis, 612-870-3131; www.artsmia.org

Meissner grew up in the passenger seat of his father’s Chevy Nova, while the elder Meissner traveled the Midwest as a salesman during the 1950s. In his newest book of poems, American Compass, Meissner casts his knowing yet never cynical eye back on those times and the iconic images–Elvis Presley, James Dean–that helped shape American culture. The poet is also the author of a notable collection of baseball essays, Hitting Into the Wind; his new book includes more musings on our erstwhile national pastime (which now must be either NASCAR or eating, or both). 1011 Washington Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-215-2575; www.loft.org

Probably no one told Sarah Vowell when she was growing up that she should get into radio. With a whiny, nasally voice that sounds at once bored by the world and fascinated by the inner workings of her own mind, sheÕs an incredibly annoying anti-radio personality. Nonetheless, the woman can tell a good story, and always gets a wry laugh, which is why she’s become a regular on NPR’s This American Life. In her latest book, Assassination Vacation, Vowell embarks on a twisted road trip to sites of presidential assassinations, where she ponders the wackos who want to kill presidents, and the wackos who want to run for president. Coffman Union, 300 Washington Ave. SE, Minneapolis; 612-625-6000

Mrs. Vollman–yes, last we heard, Bill was still married–must be the most tolerant woman on earth. Her husband is notorious for conducting meticulous research for his books, research that has included developing a crack habit (to understand drug addicts) and traveling for months through the world’s most unstable countries, with little access to communications and ample chances of getting one’s head shot off (to understand life in these places). Then there was the research involving lots of sex with lots of prostitutes, to understand, well, people who have lots of sex with lots of prostitutes. We hope Mrs. Vollman finds just reward in reading her wayward spouse’s books–epic and beautiful masterpieces that exercise language in new ways and illuminate dark corners of the non-Western world. Europe Central takes on the Western world during one of its darkest times, World War II.

The first stanzas of his song “Miss Fortune”–about an abandoned baby–left the musician/songwriter John Wesley Harding itching to tell the rest of the story. So he wrote an entire novel, “Misfortune,” under his real name, Wesley Stace. This elaborate and occasionally raunchy tale, told in Dickensian style, follows the baby as it is found by the wealthy Lord Loveall, who is thrilled to have a daughter and lavishes her with luxuries. How lucky for her–except that baby Rose is a boy. The tale that unfolds is peppered with vivid detail and lively dialogue, making it easy to see why publishers pounced on this first novel.

Like opera, poetry doesn’t always translate well from its native tongue. Poems from the great mystic Rainer Maria Rilke, for example, lose nuance and, more notably, lyricism in the journey from Rilke’s native German to English (he also wrote a sizeable but less celebrated oeuvre in French). Rilke’s rhythmic dynamism is best enjoyed when expressed, lecture hall-style, in its original language, while we non-German speakers follow along with the help of handouts. So here’s a rare opportunity, in honor of National Poetry Month, to hear Rilke poems in their original German. Gerhard Weiss (pictured), a professor of German at the University of Minnesota, does the honors. Banfill-Locke Center for the Arts; 6666 East River Rd., Fridley; 763-574-1850; www.saseonline.org

We’re not sure why the server offered us a cup of water to sip while we waited for our takeout pizza; the pies were already boxed up by the time we’d paid and walked over to the pickup side of the counter. With an oven running at a truly infernal eight hundred degrees, pizzas here are fully baked in a mere ninety seconds. Really. This rapid-fire approach hardly compromises in taste, either: tangy San Marzano tomato sauce, huge basil leaves, and toppings like robust spicy sausage, all tossed lightly over a chewy crust tinged with a little wood-fire carbon, make a Punch pizza just about the most sophisticated ninety-second experience around. The Minneapolis location even has a community table for non-natives and other brave souls who might like to chat with strangers over a meal. 704 Cleveland Ave. S., St. Paul; 651-696-1066 / 8353 Crystal View Rd., Eden Prairie; 952-943-9557 / 3226 W. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-929-0006

Through fifteen years and three locations, Sakura owner Miyoko Omori has kept St. Paul swimming in top-grade sushi. In a high-ceilinged room with expansive windows, she and her staff serve up artful takes on classic Japanese fare, drawing a dining crowd that ranges from Lowertown loft dwellers to traveling classical musicians–don’t be surprised if you see a cello case patiently waiting while its owner scarfs down some mirugai (jumbo clam) or uni (sea urchin) nigiri. The place also has mean miso, terrific tempura, and some serious sake, in addition to lunchtime bento-box meals that have made many a downtown office worker’s day. 350 St. Peter St., St. Paul; 651-224-0185

Perhaps the most pleasurable thing about Barbette is the feeling that, upon gliding through its velvet-curtained entry, you’ve walked into a French movie. A host with chiseled cheekbones guides you past a round communal table. Stained-glass fixtures in circus colors suggest the performer from which the cafe takes its name. If you’re lucky, you’ll be seated with a view of a painting of a lovely nude with a sensuous backside. Patrons to your left slurp oysters, and across the room, a couple lingers over a bottle of Sicilian red with a spread of fruit, artisan cheeses, and warm olives. You can’t decide whether to indulge in the grass-fed steak frites or the wild mushroom risotto, but one thing is certain: it’s time to learn French. 1600 W. Lake St., Minneapolis; 612-827-5710