Back and Out and Back Again.

Tea: Pu Erh Dante

Music: UK, "Night After Night"

Time: Night.

Back after an early winter bug hiatus. I envy those who can will themselves well.

First Friday tonight, which began as a work obligation and ended with good conversation.

It is easy, I think, to see artists as only artists, writers as only writers, editors as only editors -- and forget that there are other facets as well. Tonight was a good reminder that at heart ... some of us just like to talk about food and play Scrabble.

(Well, we didn't actually play tonight. But we talked about it.)

Several cool things seen, but it's late and I need to sleep. More later, I'm sure.

Elsewhens and Otherwheres

Tea: Caramel Lapsang

Music: The W's, "The Devil is Bad"

Time: Night.

I like all sorts of visual art -- painting, drawing, sculpture, ceramics, fiber art, metalwork, you name it.

Within each medium, I like a lot of different styles -- from the hyper-realist to the utterly abstract.

But there is something about art that evokes a sense of familiar place -- and right now, in this moment (and knowing it could change tomorrow), that's what sticks with me most from the First Friday outing of two nights ago.

I'll go in reverse chronological order here. We'll begin at a later stop: Barkley (formerly the TWA headquarters), which hosted an opening for Harriet Bigham. She lives in the Crown Center area, and much of her work reflects that. I worked in that part of the city for a decade, and still find myself there at times. So in her paintings, I see places I've not merely passed by, but bonded with in some way. And somewhere inside, I'm there again.

Now we backtrack to Unit 5 Gallery, which is now featuring paintings by Richard Mattson. There's a good deal of work featuring the Flint Hills, which is well-traveled territory for me and mine -- and a lot depicting the Brookside/South Plaza area.

That includes Loose Park, a place dear to me for a number of reasons. One is a stand of evergreens, on the west side of the park (near the Narnia Lamppost, about which I'll write more later). I have been there in each season of the year, and each time I step under those trees I feel as though I'm in a sanctuary. (Snow heightens the effect, but nothing diminishes it.)

One of Mattson's paintings is of those trees. So, of course, that was the one I kept coming back to.

I'm a "try new things" person, sometimes to a fault. But at the same time, it can be good to go back to touchstone places -- even when they're hanging on a wall in 2-D.

Hello, I must be going

Tea: Wild Berry Green

Music: Phil Collins, "Through These Walls"

Time: Night.

I'm still going through my notes on the art I saw and the artists I encountered last night at First Friday. I covered a lot of ground, making sure I saw (a) everyone who sent me an invitation to an opening and (b) everyone who will be included in the art stories on my "to write" list.

That kept me on the move, although I'm not complaining about the walking (a little more than two miles, all told). It was cool but not bitter, and being able to park and rove saved gas.

The only bad thing was that I had to breeze through some of the galleries more quickly than I would have liked, and I had to cut several conversations short to move on to the next must-see location.

On the other hand, having to be so many places in not a lot of time kept me from glomming onto anyone for an extended time. It's easy enough to do -- I find artists and their work fascinating (probably a good thing for an arts writer), and wow, do I love to talk to people. (I did get the "Don't Talk to Strangers" memo, but I blew my nose on it.) But First Fridays are for the artists, who need to be able to circulate through their openings, talking to potential buyers and making other contacts. Having someone attached at the hip can't help.

And, to borrow a phrase from several songs on a single theme, how can people miss me if I never go away?

More tomorrow on the art itself. It's the night that keeps on giving.

Running Late

Tea: Chocolate Cherry

Music: The Beatles, "Come Together"

Time: Almost midnight.

It's been a long First Friday and I need to crash. I'm going to beg a 24-hour indulgence before I start sorting it all into words.

For now, let's just say I missed the Arts Incubator for the first time in 14 months -- but found a lot of new places. Much more of this, and I'm going to need to be twins. (No jokes about us both being evil.)

'Night ...

A Pleasant Reminder

Tea: Lapsang Vanilla

Music: Pink Floyd, "Learning to Fly"

Time: Night.

This will be short. First Friday has worn me out a bit. It was good, though. Got to see some people I hadn't seen in a while, found a few new (to me) spaces ... and as always, the art reminded me just how good Kansas City's creative community is.

The weather was gorgeous, the music (inside and outside) worth hearing ... in short, an affirmation of some wise words I've heard recently:

"I'd rather be poor and healthy than rich and sick."

Amen to that.

Tonight's story: Jessie Middleton, "The Ghost That Grinned"

Friday Follow-Up, Part I

Tea: Chinese Melon Seed.

Music: Live, "Lightning Crashes"

Time: Night.

So, here's another cool moment from last night's First Friday outing.

I went to the Belger Arts Center for another look at the quilts exhibit I recently reviewed. (That review isn't out yet, but here is the Kansas City Star's story from a filmcentric perspective. While you're there, check out Rich Sugg's photos. Then get yourself down to the Crossroads and see the quilts for yourself.)

The artist, Sun Smith-Foret, was there, and we got to talking about art and movies and the like. Before long, she was showing me the backs of quilts that were hung against the wall, and pulling out and unfolding another piece that wasn't even on display.

Does that make me extra cool? Nah. Makes me pretty fortunate, I'd say. It's a fine thing to get a look behind the scenes -- or in this case, on the back side of the quilt.

Art Walk .. and Walk ... and Walk ...

Tea: Jacob's Dream

Music: Street drumming

Time: Almost midnight.

Another First Friday, and this one really got its hooks into me -- in a good way, that is.

I almost didn't go (headache), but roused myself in time to get down to the Crossroads by six. I figured I'd get in a few of the usual stops, collect some business cards for story ideas, and shut things down early.

Instead, I just got in and it's almost ... well, you saw the time in the header.

Life is, as they say, in the detours.

I'll post some links to the coolest stuff soon. Right now, I'm about to crash.

I will say that one of the highest points came early in the evening, at the Arts Incubator. Just to the right on the second level, there's a photo show with images from big cities around the country -- especially New York. (Rumor has it the photographer will be showing there next First Friday, too. Go check him out.)

The photos from New York took me back. Pretty soon, I think, it'll be time for me to be back in person.

Cup XX: If I Had a Million Dollars, I Would Buy a Lot of Kleenex

Tea: Blood Orange, ginger added, with honey (but no Dijon ketchup)

Music: Barenaked Ladies, "If I Had $1,000,000"

Time: Afternoon

Stupid allergies. My head's all full of junk, and tonight's First Friday. Can't miss that. Well, I could. But I'd miss the art -- even if there's not likely to be a Picasso (or a Garfunkel) on hand --and the chance to make contacts.

I'm turning into a schmoozer. Oh, well.

And on top of things, my tendinitis is back for its semiannual visit. Left heel, this time. So I'm using the tea to wash down a couple of ibuprofen, too.

Here's hoping everything kicks in by the time I head down to the Crossroads. If not, I'll be easy to spot (or hear) from a couple of blocks away. Just watch for the limping, listen for the sniffling. But if everything goes right, I'll be unstuffed and fully bipedal. In which case, you'll just have to look for the mismatched socks.

Today's creepy story, selected in haste because the annoyingly law-abiding junior daughter needs the computer for homework. (Doesn't she know Friday afternoons are for slacking?)

M.R. James, "The Mezzotint"