9780008390662

My pal Ivan is quite the artist, just like Julia.
Ivan sits up and nods toward a spot on the wall.
“Another mud mural?” I ask.
As any good dog knows, dirt plus water equals mud, and mud means mess,
and mess means let’s roll in this stuff and maybe dig a hole or two or ten.
But for Ivan, mud plus a flat surface equals a waiting canvas.
I crane my neck, edging a bit farther down the top of the wall. Don’t want to
draw attention to myself.
“Hey, nice,” I say.
I mean, I’m not an art guy. To me, art is a glop of spray cheese on a cheese
dog with extra grated cheese on top.
Still, I’ve always admired Ivan’s work.
“It’s—” Ivan begins.
“No,” I say. “Don’t tell me. Lemme guess.”
“You always guess wrong,” Ivan says.
“Not always.”
“You thought my palm tree was a dandelion.”
“Art is in the eye of the beholder,” I say.
“You thought my blackberries were giant ants.”
Kinyani ambles up to join in the conversation. “And need I remind you that
you thought his portrait of me was a chimpanzee with gas?”
“The resemblance was striking,” I say.