Installed this ceramic piece by Miguel Rodriguez a few years ago at a convention center.  Wonderful sculpure, wonderfully whimsical.  Then some kid climbed on it, broke it loose from its securing mounts, busted it.  Insurance paid my client, who paid me, and I then paid Miguel to sculpt a new one.  He did, shipped it to me (he lives in NV), I absent-mindedly tossed out the box with the trash, and he had to sculpt another.  He did, shipped it to me, and I promptly broke it upon re-installation.  So he had to sculpt another.  He did, shipped it to me, but this one didn’t fit the lipstick body.  So he had to sculpt another.  He did, shipped it to me, and this one fit beautifully.  Client ecstatic.  Yeah, well it only took us six months to get there.

Very nice Father’s Day.  Properly spoiled.  Watched Seven with my sons, wife and a friend last night.  Hadn’t seen it since the 90s.  Morgan Freeman is such an exceptional actor.  Never get tired of watching him do his thing.  Or Kevin Spacey for that matter. 

6:30 a.m.  Somebody’s getting tired of waiting for her walk.

Went to a party Thursday night at the offices of Review, a local art mag of unusual sophistication–largely the doing of their editor, Mike Miller.  Good party: free beer.  Several artists have studios in the building.  So I wandered around barefoot and imbibed in the company of friends.  Talked about anything but art.  Sometimes I get so bloody sick of conversation centering on art; so we talked about kids, baseball, French Chateaus, Al Gore, Bloomsday and tattoos.  Enjoyed that.

Heard today from a reader in Prague.  Magnificent painter.  Here’s his website.  You never know where your book or blog will wind up. 

I went to Prague in the spring of 1991.  Forsythia and tulips were in bloom, the Iron Curtain had recently fallen, and I was over there looking into the idea of importing Bohemian Glass.  This was before Czech art glass had really taken off.

Nothing much came of the business, but I remember how beautiful the city was, since it was not bombed much in WWII.  The narrow streets, the baroque architecture, the optimism after Communism failed, the smell of coal smoke in the mornings, the cheap beer, the jazz clubs late at night, walking back to the hotel across the Charles Bridge (above), and all the restaurants serving ham and dumplings.  Also my driver getting lost in the countryside, and me having to take over; all the great castles, from Karlstein down on into Slovakia; the natives trying to get used to seeing a Yank about; a Russian military convey pulling out down a highway, heading back home.

I could go on, but that’s enough for now.

Learned today that we picked up a major endorsement for Everybody’s Game; I can’t name them yet, but all in due time.  The book will come out in early March, book tour following shortly after.  Probably 35 cities.  I did 60 on Living the Artist’s Life.  Dug it actually, I mean the audiences and hanging out in places like Manhattan, LA and New Orleans.  But man, racking up the miles: 35,000.  Don’t need to do that no more. 

A new figurative painter of considerable sophistication, Dean Kube (above), will soon be joining our ranks.  Look forward to helping advance his career, but to be honest, it’s pretty far advanced already.

Hot outside: 92 degrees.  Time for a run…

I’ve got one client coming in this week from Aspen to pick up a Kim Casebeer painting. That’s sounds pretty fancy, eh? Well she’s actually in town on other business; dropping by the gallery just fit in with the trip.

Another client in Topeka is trying to make up his mind about a rather large Allan Chow painting. Something tells me he’ll decide in Allan’s favor. I’ll give him until Thursday before calling. Curious juxtaposition: Aspen/Topeka. All the same to me.

An interior designer is wasting my time.  I’m trying to be polite.

Played a little baseball with the boys last night. Was lucky enough to knock two over the fence. Now listen, the fence is only 300′ out, and I was pitching to myself, so it’s not like I was facing Satchel Paige in old Municipal Stadium. But for Porter Park it felt all right.

Oversaw the installation of an Arlie Regier/Dave Regier piece in stainless steel for a civic client recently.  Simple job: chunk of limestone, drill limestone, fill voids with epoxy, lower sculpture by crane.  Yeah, I oversaw it myself.  Get tired of sitting behind a desk.  Regiers were ecstatic; so was client.  Note combination of found objects and fabricated objects.  And this is one of their smaller pieces.

I met Patricia Duncan in 2001, before she moved to Maine from Kansas City, when her studio was on The Plaza.  I only acquired one piece from her, this one.  The acquisition was made for a large art consultation project I was doing at the time.  The theme?  Prairiefire.  If you look, you can clearly see it, though it doesn’t matter if you can’t.

She and her husband Herb are now somewhere in the vicinity of Bar Harbor; a great place to go in summer, as I did once by motorcycle.  But man you won’t catch me anywhere around there when December hits.  Anyway, I’m sure she’s as good an artist on the Atlantic as she was here.

Wrote another column for Absolute Arts, which was posted today.  It’s oddly similar to today’s Friday Tips, but I can’t help it if I’m lacking in imagination.