I don’t spend a lot of time, anymore, worrying about whether I’m smart. That’s not to say that I’ve never had insecurity in this area, or that I think I’m smarter than everyone (or even anyone), or that I know everything about everything. But generally speaking, I’m not afraid that I’m stupid. I’ve satisfied any insecurity I had on that score.

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I went, recently, to hear storytellers. This is a cool thing that one of my friends does. She lives an hour or so away, more like two in rush hour on a weeknight, but I’ve gone up twice to her town to see these storytellers do their thing at a funky, artisanal distillery near her house.

They’ve done variations on princess stories, both times, and I’m spellbound the whole time. This second time, I noticed some things about delivery that made me want to get to the bottom of what made them good.

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Love for the Denver Art Museum

I spent the evening on Friday at the Denver Art Museum. I have had a membership for the last three years, and only manage to go once per year, which means that I’m totally overpaying for this. But I find that I don’t mind, and here’s why:

I’ve been to some of the great art museums of the world. Musee D’Orsay, the Louvre, the Prado, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Gallery, in Washington D.C., among others. Let me own up front that the Denver Art Museum’s collections and exhibits are not as impressive as these places. But I think I love it better than all of those places, and not just because it’s my hometown art museum. I loved the Prado and the Art Institute of Chicago, in particular— their collections were awe inspiring. I’m someone who can spend hours and hours in an art museum and never be bored. I soak up the art like a sponge. But, for example, in the Louvre, the sheer volume of it was overwhelming. It took almost no time for me to narrow my focus to only sculpture and to skip all the other galleries, because I didn’t know what to look at. I developed a distaste for portraiture in the Louvre, because it was so entirely overwhelming. I didn’t know what I was supposed to see in all these faces. It struck me as more of an invaluable art warehouse than a museum I could enjoy exploring.

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And We’re Back

I didn’t really intend to take a blogging break, but it did kind of work out that way. It’s been a busy season for me— a big family gathering involved lots of preparation, then lots of engagement while it happened, then I got sick afterward (predictably), and then the dog went in for surgery number 2 last week. Here’s a picture of him looking pathetic when I picked him up last week:

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A few years ago, Colorado Opera postponed their much-feted world premiere production of “The Scarlet Letter” because of financial trouble. That was the spring of the year that I decided to double down and formally teach religious education, though the people I’d been volunteering with the high school youth group with were all bailing out of the program. My mom and I bought season tickets to the opera that year, because they slashed their prices replaced “The Scarlet Letter” with dyed-in-the-wool crowd pleasers, including “Romeo and Juliet” and Mozart’s “Don Giovanni.” Though we were novices to opera, my experience with ballet taught me that familiar material makes an unfamiliar art form more accessible. It paid off— we’ve since enjoyed several performances: “Carmen,” and “Aida,” and “Rigoletto,” among others, and are season ticket holders to this day. They’ve emerged from their financial troubles, and are in a position to do some more innovative programming.

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