We took our crowd to an art gallery this weekend. Wait. That’s a bad place to start. Let’s go back in time. Way, way back to the single semester I spent at the school formerly known as the Art Academy. The culture shock was too much for me and I ended up comfortably nestled at UT Martin. Sure, every girl in Martin had a blender in her dorm room, but that was nothing compared to the social life connected to the art community. Before I became a TN recluse, I visited museums, galleries and juried craft shows. Skip ahead to this past weekend and a high school student who needed to do a report for school. We visited one of the approved “art museums and galleries” to entertain ourselves while she did her research. Either there’s a shortage of artists in Knoxville or it’s not very profitable, because the gallery was probably more than fifty percent furniture store. Do they teach upholstery at Arrowmont now? Sarah went out of her way to stay on the opposite end of the store as her loud siblings and parents.  I found her hiding place a few times and tried to nudge her progress.  “How about this piece?  It’s fun.”  “That’s YOUR kinda stuff mom, not mine.”  Eventually, one of the employees walked up to her.  “Show me where you are on the assignment.  Okay.  You are going to write about this piece.  Write down exactly what I say.”  I thanked the woman for helping as she rushed off to get another high schooler finished and out of her store.  Doug found the gallery visit inspiring. He is a teeny bit closer to attempting to replace our broken and under-sized table with something he (and his friends’ tools) have built. “Maybe I could build something.”