Jesus Saves: If this is your motto, you would love the retro block-lettering signage that says just that atop an old, abandoned, asbestos-filled church just off West Trade in the Wesley Heights area.

Frazier Park Tunnel Mural: Every time my dog and I walk through the tunnel under Fourth Street, I feel I’m transported back to “The Wonder Years” era when the parks were filled with children and picnics, rather than the homeless and drug pushers.  And the truth is, the latter is what I sometimes find along that path.  But with a little paint and artsy vision, the floral mural that decorates the otherwise dark tunnel transforms the mood.

Wind Silos: Whoever said you couldn’t polish poop clearly hadn’t met Ned Kahn – the artist who was able to sex up a dull, unsightly parking garage on West Trade with a mirrored mosaic of metallic fabric that moves with the wind.

The Green: Maybe it’s just the writer in me, but this uniquely playful homage to the literary world is my sugar-free version of Willy Wonka’s factory.  If you stop to read and admire the floating storybook pages or animated artwork, you might feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to pee, brought on by the audible walkway of water sounds.

Firebird: Seated outside the Bechtler Museum, it’s the latest edition to Tryon Street’s collection of commissioned art.  The sparkly, glittery outdoor sculpture of mirrored and colored glass is a great departure from the bronze, aluminum, or granite blandness that decorates the other parts of Tryon.  The Firebird adds a kooky joyfulness to our corporate city streets.

So next time you balk at a few extra dollars being spent on sexing up our city, just ask yourself –would you rather look at a girl in jeans and a T-shirt everyday?

~ Amanda Pagliarini

It’s an understandable reaction.  Museums, galleries, even art itself can feel inaccessible, daunting, intimidating, or simply irrelevant.  Why should people step into the Bechtler?  If they do go, won’t the “I’m not sure I get it or give a damn” sign flashing above their heads be detectable by the artsy people?  What can be gained from a trip to the Harvey B. Gantt Center for African-American Arts + Culture that couldn’t be read in a book?  Isn’t a dance performance just a dance performance, a musical performance just music?  How does a static painting or object have any real affect on a person? Or on a city, for that matter?

These are all questions I’ve asked myself.  And I like art.  I spent my first 25 years of life in Washington, D.C., where there is a gallery or museum for every Starbucks.  Twenty of those 25 years I spent in a dance studio.  In college, when I wasn’t studying the art of language, I was cramming my feet into ballet shoes or learning the creative science behind choreography.  And still, I can at times find myself among the masses in Charlotte who believe our city’s booming art world has nothing to do with me.

During her 2009 Oscar acceptance speech, Penelope Cruz addressed this question of relevance so divinely that it has since shifted my perspective.  With trembling conviction, Cruz shared,

“I always felt that this was, this ceremony was a moment of unity for the world because art, in any form, is and has been and will always be our universal language and we should do everything we can, everything we can, to protect its survival.”

Art is our universal language.  It requires no translation, or level setting.  Art doesn’t care where you came from.  It is unconcerned with your background, education or economic status.  It doesn’t demand that those who look at it be cultured or sophisticated.  Art doesn’t hold an expectation or required reaction.  It just wants you to come and see it.

Experiencing art offers individuals a freedom they rarely find anywhere else in life.  You can see what you want to see, feel what you want to feel, and no one can tell you that you’re wrong. Art allows two people to stand side by side and look at the exact same thing yet see it differently – and when they share their differing perspectives, rather than judge, defend or dismiss, they cock their heads and attempt to see what the other sees.

If art can imitate life, I simply don’t know of anything more relevant to us all.

~ Amanda Pagliarini

I’ve been given a backstage pass so I can view the debut of the Knight Theater close up. Visions from old movies and plays flash by in my mind’s eye – of hysterical actors, hyperactive stagehands, demanding divas, drunken roadies, sandbags falling from the ceiling, collapsing pieces of equipment – in other words, total chaos.

Nothing could be further from reality. The best word to describe the scene backstage is professional.  Yes, it’s the first show at the Knight, and everyone expects there will be glitches to be worked out. In fact, Tom Gabbard, head of the North Carolina Blumenthal Performing Arts Center that operates the Knight, tells the crowd in his opening remarks that the event is “a shakedown cruise.”

Yet the atmosphere backstage is quiet and relaxed, and everyone moves with a calm purposefulness.  There is only one unexpected event – Martin shows up with his blond Labrador, even though pets are not allowed at the Knight.  But he is the star, after all, and the animal is allowed in – but must stay in Martin’s private room. (His wife takes the dog for a walk at The Green across the street.)

An hour or so before the show, Martin and the band are ensconced in their rooms. You can hear him plucking his banjo, and the band members laughing and warming up in their adjacent room.

Martin comes out into the hallway once – in a tie, but jacketless — to talk to humorist Dave Barry, who will interview him on-stage as a warm-up act. If you didn’t recognize them, they look like any well-dressed Charlotte executives discussing business or the Panthers.

A roadie comes in with a delivery for the band. He turns to us and says, “How can it be this humid in October?”  Being well-behaved Charlotteans, no one overtly rolls his eyes as a New Yorker might do when approached by some rube visiting the city. Instead, someone shrugs and says, “It’s Charlotte.”

One reason for the peacefulness is that event production has gone digital and wireless. LED lighting is used almost exclusively, so there aren’t many light bulbs to change, and they produce very little heat. So there’s far less danger of a bulb touching a curtain or a cable and starting a fire.

The technical aspects of lighting and sound are too complicated to be understood by mere mortals. It’s impressive enough to know that every last detail and aspect is controlled by guys – and they are mostly men — sitting at control boards.  So instead of hordes of people running around backstage to check things out, you’ve got a couple. Everyone communicates via walkie-talkies and other hand-held devices.

Not that the staff members didn’t work their butts off preparing for the concert. The theater was turned over to them October 1, just nine days before the show, and they went through the entire facility with a fine-tooth comb, creating a punch list much the way a new homeowner does.

The software that runs the sound system was in a default mode so the user would only have had a few standard buttons to push. The Knight’s needs are far more sophisticated and complex, so computer geeks spent days rewriting the programs. The backstage area was so poorly lit no one could see anything. So a row of florescent lights was quickly installed.

Being that North Carolina is one of the least unionized states in the country, I am surprised to learn that the Knight – like the Belk – is a union shop. Backstage staffing is provided through the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees.  North Carolina is a right-to-work state, so workers don’t have to be union members, but they must go through it to get hired. There is a core of about 100 union members and 100 non-union members.

The Martin banjo concert is a good show to get the kinks out.  It’s just six guys with microphones, no sets or scene changes. Much of the back-of-the-house features aren’t utilized: Big loading docks. A rehearsal room where dancers and singers warm up or go over a number one last time.  A break room where performers grab a bite to eat. A full laundry, complete with ironing boards and irons.  Lots of dressing rooms.

Although the Belk is almost 20 years old and lacks the technological wizardry of the Knight, its backstage capacity is larger, meaning it will continue to get the big Broadway spectacles while the Knight will host dance and musical concerts and simple plays. The Belk has a larger audience capacity, too – 2,097 seats compared with the Knight’s 1,200.

When the concert begins, I’m given a seat on stage right. The band members enter and exit on the other side, so I don’t get to see or hear them offstage. I can’t see the audience either, so I feel like I’m watching something I’m not supposed to see, like catching Santa on Christmas Eve.

Halfway through the show, I’m escorted to my seat about 10 rows up, just left of center. Even at this distance – and with my lousy vision – I enjoy a real sense of intimacy with the band. Yet for all the technical prowess and design excellence, I wonder whether the experience wouldn’t be even better if they were playing in a gymnasium or outdoors so instead of just tapping their feet, people could spontaneously leap up and dance. Actually, I bet that in halls in other cities, people do get up and start gyrating and prancing around. But this is Charlotte. Everyone stays in their seats until the inevitable – but in this case, heartfelt – standing O.  In fact, there are two of them.

From this initial experience, I can say I love the Knight and look forward to returning. But the way it is situated within the Wells Fargo Cultural Campus gives me pause and concerns me. Granted, construction is still going on at the new Mint Museum beside it (and will continue for about another year). First Street has yet to be opened to traffic. But the hall is tucked away from South Tryon Street and is nestled between the larger and much more imposing Mint and Bechtler museums.

I fear that the Knight, lacking a strong street presence and being overshadowed by the museums, will get lost. For me, the hall itself is an integral part of the performance experience. For the hall to be truly effective, you need a sense of drama, a bit of awe, which tells you that you have arrived at someplace special and that something remarkable is going to happen there.

Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers provided an awesome christening for the Knight, baptizing the building with the beauty, joy and delight their high-energy, foot-stomping music created. The people inside felt it and will tell others.  I just wish the exterior of the building was as exciting and as beckoning.

~Bea Quirk