Two Painting as One

Tea: Christmas

Music: Queen, "You're My Best Friend"

Time: Night.

Short Third Friday tonight. None of the galleries in Columbus Park were open.

However, Eljay's Coffeehouse in the River Market had some works I've seen before and always enjoy seeing again. They're by Chuck Hoffman and Peg Carlson-Hoffman, who are collectively Doghaus Arts.

I do mean "collectively." They paint together -- on shared canvases. One might think that would be a dicey undertaking, given the inherent individualism of the creative processes.

But they make it work, in large part because each respects the other's vision and neither holds a power advantage during the painting process. There's a larger lesson in that -- and they teach it in Belfast, where they use artistic collaboration to help bridge the Catholic-Protestant divide.

That's art for more than art's sake, I'd say.

Those as Can, Do (and Should Teach)

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang

Music: Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Gimme Three Steps"

Time: Night.

Third Friday means hanging out with artists, which invariably means good conversation.

Tonight, I was at a reception, talking with an artist acquaintance who teaches at an area high school. He was bemoaning the fact that too many times, people who teach art at that level aren't producing artists themselves.

A writer friend has said the same thing for years, under another paw. He contends that to teach writing in high school, one should be a producing writer.

Granted, that is the case sometimes. There are artists who teach, writers who teach, directors and actors and techs who teach. And when that happens, it's a good thing.

But that should be the norm. Education should be a minor, not a major, in every case. Focus on expertise in the core subject, and it will be easier to teach it. And if someone knows the material-- has lived the material -- and can communicate it, why keep him or her from teaching?

In too many cases, though, the education degree is paramount -- and it shouldn't be. Would you rather have your kids learning from people who know how to do the work, or from people who have spent most of their undergraduate lives learning educational theory (much of which seems dedicated to the modern-day cult of self esteem)?

I'd better stop here. That last parenthetical could lead to a much longer rant, and it's late.

Tonight's scary story: Lafcadio Hearn, "The Corpse-Demon"

Itsy Bitsy, My Hindquarters

Tea: Caramel Lapsang

Music: Weezer, "Buddy Holly"

Time: Almost midnight.

A number of cool things happened today and tonight:

1. Not only did I get in a hike with my son, but the forage was most excellent. We got grasshoppers for supper. (Yes, you read right. We're insectivores, from time to time -- well, at least the males in the family. The females do much nose-wrinkling and making of the "eww" sound. The recipe's from Oaxaca, by way of Brooklyn.) We also got a few pounds of acorns (yep, those are edible too) and a handful of hickory nuts that the squirrels somehow missed. I'm going back next week with a big basket to get more acorns, look for more hickory nuts and fill out the remaining space with black walnuts.

2. The weekly arts outing provided much interesting viewing and conversation. Don't ask me to pick the best of the night -- as far as I'm concerned, it was pretty much a continuous highlight. (On the "latest news" front, Spencer Musser -- who opens the front room of his Columbus Park apartment as Yakamoz Gallery on Third Fridays -- now has a website.)

But the coolest thing that happened today was totally unplanned. It happened during the grasshopper hunt. My son made a grab for a likely-looking specimen in some long grass. It jumped away -- straight into the web of a freaking huge yellow-and-black spider (scientific name: Ginormis holicrapus). Within seconds, the insect was neatly packaged in silk for later consumption (and the spider had a great story for his buddies: "I was just sittin' there, mindin' my own business, and this giant sent me food.") And there we stood, repeating "Whoa ..." over and over.

Okay, so sometime my inner child is kind of ghoulish ...

Hither, Meet Yon

Tea: Lemon

Music: The Doobie Brothers, "Black Water"

Time: Night.

Wow ... just looking at my weekend schedule has me wiped out, and it's only Thursday.

I'm solo parenting Friday and part of Saturday, because of a women's retreat at the church.

These are my whenabouts so far -- and because my life is what it is, they are always subject to change:

Friday morning, ca. 8-9 a.m.: Rouse son for ten-mile hike (still have no idea where we're going).

Friday afternoon, upon returning: Trying to get out some pitch letters before ...

Friday afternoon, 4 p.m.: Pick up Mrs. Steep from work, drop her off at church.

Friday evening, 5 p.m.-whenever: Arts stuff, arts stuff, arts stuff. There's an opening at Leopold Gallery in Brookside, and the usual Third Friday things downtown and in Columbus Park.

Saturday: The two oldest kids have things going on at Mission Arts and Eats, here in the home'burb, plus my son has play rehearsal. So, basically, morning to early afternoon, I'll be getting them where they need to go and trying to check out the artists. Then I'll try to catch part of Holly Swangstu's opening at J. Bird Studios in Kansas City, Kansas, and then I'll bail to cover a 7 p.m. Kansas City Wizards game. (I have to be there well before kickoff.)

Oh, did I mention the Plaza Art Fair is this weekend? I'm going to have to cram that in Sunday afternoon, in between church stints.

Then Monday brings three deadlines, 1,300 words total.

I need a clone. Why should I have all the fun?

Perfection Goeth before the Crash

Tea: Yunnan Gold

Music: Barclay Martin, "The Age of Information"

Time: Night

Life, a dear deep friend is fond of reminding me, is lived in the detours. Tonight has been perfect proof of that.

I knew about Third Friday arts events downtown -- but until tonight, I had no clue about the goings-on in Columbus Park (east of the River Market). I was downtown when I picked up a flyer for a show at the For Sale Gallery on East Fifth.

And here I thought I knew the art scene schedule in this town. Then again, maybe it wasn't the right time until tonight. The air was soft, the Chardonnay crisp, the art (and artists) invigorating.

(Oh, and I got another photo show -- perhaps two. Details to follow as I know them.)

And on top of that, I ran into an old friend.

Barclay Martin was playing a solo acoustic show at one of the galleries. I hadn't seen him in years -- not since catching his old band, Potato Moon, in its only Kansas City show. We talked for a few minutes, and then he plugged in and started to sing.

He was good before. He's only gotten better.

I had intended to stay for his full set -- but all of a sudden, I found myself bone-deep weary. I left after two songs. But it won't be years before I see Barclay again.

Part of me wishes I weren't crashing so hard. But there's a part of me that knows tonight was magical -- and magic, as we all know, exacts its tolls. If it didn't -- if there was no fiddler to pay at the end of the dance -- well, it wouldn't be magic, would it?