It was the McFadden Brothers, performing to an intimate crowd at Oak Room at the Intercontinental Hotel on the Country Club Plaza.

It began with Lonnie McFadden alone, and his irrepressible grin, telling stories and promising us a good time. From the first notes of “The Girl from Ipanema,”  through “Under the Boardwalk” and a cover of a Rev. Al Green sultry song, he owned the music. It was part of him, swingy, playful, joyous and just brimming over with something wonderful.  It was all punctuated with his trumpet and occasionally,with his delightful dancing.

Joyous. Then, in the second set, his brother Ronald joined him on the tiny, taped-down hardwood stage over the carpeted lounge floor. Energy doubled.

The two perform knowing each other’s every move. They tease each other a bit, riff on each other’s comments, tell stories about growing up in a performing household (their father was “Smilin’Jimmy McFadden,” who performed with Count Basie, Cab Calloway, Jay McShann and other legends).

Seeing the two brothers dance, side by side, and then alternating in increasingly difficult and showy steps, I was reminded of the comparisons between Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire.  In this duo, Lonnie is like Gene Kelly, with playful in his movements, while Ronald is like Fred Astaire,  the essence of pure elegance. (Lonnie even broke the tap off his shoe!)

There was more. Lonnie’s daughter Gina was up next with a solo performance; followed by her younger sister Chloe with a searing cover of an Etta James blues song.  It sent shivers down my spine, and I’ll admit, made me cry. Then the two girls sang together; the kind of song that leaves one breathless. There was a touching moment when their dad turned to wipe away a tear.

The brothers came back to finish off the show with flourish and panache. They always do “Mister BoJangles” and this was no different. Except the moment that stuck was at the very end, as the two were closing the song, arms outstretched, slowing rising — the backs of their hands touch. Linger a moment. Sharing something for a moment.

The hands don’t clasp. They’re just together, intently, a subtle reach by both, to touch. It wasn’t just a too-small stage. It was a tender collaboration, an affirmation, a moment of deep connection.

We were privileged. I left thinking, “Was this the best performance I’ve ever seen?”

I’m not a professional reviewer. I don’t know if there might have been a better arrangement or sound levels might have been mixed differently or if the choreography was compromised by the tiny tap stage. Maybe so. All I know is that I recognized something profoundly powerful and joyous.

Go experience it for yourself.

The first musing is about birds and business goals, or knowing what you really want.

The scene: I’m sitting out on the patio alone early one morning, a glorious sky, cottonwood leaves dancing in the breeze, the air full of pinon and dewy freshness. Quiet. Until something like a high-powered, bullet-speed drone circles my head. I ducked a few times until I realized they were hummingbirds.

No more ducking, just delight. They swirled and swarmed, one protecting his area more fiercely than I’ve ever seen a hummingbird behave. And the noise! I’d never heard them so close, so loud, the whirring noise they make an indication of their speed and agility. I sat unmoving and felt so privileged to have them so close to me; it was a joyful time.

Later, talking about the experience with my friends (my hosts), they related a tale of a friend of theirs.

This young woman had overheard them talking about their hummingbirds, and she had interjected that she, too, would like to have hummingbirds in her garden. My friends showed her their feeder and carefully explained the preparation of the nectar and other secrets for attracting the birds.

A couple of weeks later, they chanced to visit her. Her hummingbird feeder was hanging, but she was out batting at it with a broom, screaming.

“What’s going on?” they asked.

“Well, I put up the feeder but all I get are these big moths,” she replied.

Oh no!

“Those ‘big moths’you’re swatting are hummingbirds,” my friend explained cautiously.

As it turned out, the young woman had never actually seen a hummingbird. She thought they’d be different from the annoying little ‘moths’that she didn’t like at all.

Her expectation was different from reality; she didn’t know that she was terrorizing the very creatures she thought she wanted.

It was such a strange story, it made me think about some of my own expectations, especially as they relate to business and setting goals, dreaming about what I really want.  Always healthy to take stock of what you desire, and make sure that (a) you can recognize it for what it really is, and (b) you’re not unknowingly swatting it away.

The second musing came from a chance encounter with an Indian woman selling pottery downtown. Her work was nicely displayed and pieces caught my eye, so I stopped and we chatted.

She explained her product. “I find the right spot, I dig the earth, I mix the water and make the clay, I shape the vessel and bake it, and then I paint it,” she said simply. “I touch it, everyday, from when it is dirt until it is finished.”

The piece I was holding had a unusual design. “My great-grandmother designed that,” she said. The pictogram showed a bird in flight when looked at in one direction; when turned in the other, it became a flower like a tulip or trumpet vine.

Sold.

This businesswoman knew her product so intimately, and was so connected to it, her act of creating it was part of the bargain of owning the piece (at least for a short time, as it was a gift). Her story was simple, moving and effective. It’s exactly what we all need in our business storytelling.

***

Final random musings:

• Congratulations to the city of Santa Fe for controlling nighttime light pollution. It’s working and it’s brilliant to see the stars there.
• While I’m at it, congratulations to Santa Fe for its Plaza concert series of free excellent music — a wonderful community service. Last week’s bands were excellent, drawing crowds of dancers and music lovers. I can’t recall when I’ve seen so many smiling faces.

One occurred while visiting a friend who lives in a remote corner of the city, who happens to have a property that abuts a small lake, fed by three streams. It’s an older house, simple and gracious, and it’s obvious that my friends there spend most of their time outdoors.  He took me on little walk through the property — first down to the lakebed, where I spotted the snapping turtles near the Russian iris in bloom, around little mounded flower bed overflowing and lush, then curving along the stream over to the upper gardens. Rounding the curve, there’s a sudden surprise — delight everywhere you look. From the tidy vegetable garden to the abundant roses and old-fashioned treats (pawpaws, buckeyes, Japanese dogwood, clematis, phlox, giant lilies and dozens more, both native and exotic) it was moment after moment of glorious exploration touching, smelling, joyous appreciation of this otherworldly garden. There were birds everywhere and we were on watch for a snake and other woodland critters, all the more fun. A magical moment.

A second moment that overwhelmed was under vastly different circumstances. We were attending a Bach Aria Soloists concert, held in the ample living room of a neighbor and acquaintance. There were about 60 people in this front room, listening in rapt attention to the beautiful music. Then, a cello solo –  Bach’s Suite No. 4, one of my most favorites. I felt as though the world dissolved for a moment and all that existed was this extraordinary sound, threading and hanging in the air, wafting and dissolving. I closed my eyes and held hands with my beloved and savored the moment, filled with joy.

A third moment was almost a blending of the other two — a combination of a beautiful vast horizon of undulating lush hills all around, and the Kansas City Symphony. I was happy just with the vista, watching the cattle and the wild swallows at dusk, the occasional cowboy riding along in or out of the view. I was enjoying this with some 3000 other people, quietly relaxing on blankets or foldout chairs, on this natural amphitheater-like hillside.

As I relived these moments later, it occurred to me that I was missing something. These were not random moments, but the result of hours and hours of devotion and passion. There was work, heartfelt work, handprints on each, that made the difference. I was the beneficiary of the passion that went into each of those magical moments.

Was it work? Or a slow accumulation of invested dedication and passion? There need not be a difference, I understand, between working and living, between labor and labor of love.

It’s not magic at all.

Less than a month ago, a famous painting was auctioned at Sotheby’s. It was expected to be sold for $300,000 to $500,000. It actually went for $1.5 million.

While this isn’t terribly surprising, it’s notable for the story that goes along with the painting and the sale.  It’s a Kansas City story, and in many ways, a tale of American identity and attitudes.

The painting is sometimes called the American Leonardo. It’s formal name is  “La Belle Ferronniere” or Portrait of a Woman done in the style of Leonardo DaVinci.

John Brewer, author of a new book The American Leonardo — A Tale of Obsession, Art and Money, was in Kansas City recently. He gave a vivid retelling during a talk at the Kansas City Public Library.

The story begins with a young couple in love in 1919. It’s Harry Hahn, a mechanic from Kansas, who marries a French girl Andree. A favorite aunt, Louise DuMont, gives the couple the old painting, believed to be a DaVinci — it had been authenticated as such by a French dealer.

The young couple comes to the US, where Harry opens a car dealership in Junction City. They intend to sell the painting to launch their fortunes in the US.

In 1920, Kansas City didn’t even have an art museum. The Nelson wouldn’t exist until 1927, and in the whole of the US, there were not a single museum with a DaVinci. For Kansas City, with big city aspirations, this would be a coup and could help change it’s cowtown image.

One of Kansas City’s best-known business leaders, J.C. Nichols, heads up a consortium to raise funds to buy the work. Quite exiting, until a reporter happens to seek a comment from Sir Joseph Duveen, who was a famous (and famously arrogant) art critic and dealer. Duveen might have been the most influential dealer at the time, having developed art collections for all the major American industrial giants — Mellon, Rockefeller, JP Morgan.

Duveen proclaimed the work a fake. Never mind that he’d never seen it firsthand.

Oh, the uproar! The deal to sell the painting in Kansas City falls through and Hahn decides to sue Duveen for slander and damages.

Now the egos really get inflamed. Duveen enjoys the publicity of the lawsuit at first, and hires European art masters to back him up in court. More egos, this time with a tinge of old world snobbery and intellectual superiority of intuitive judgment. They can “sense” the legitimacy of a work.

In the trial, Hahn’s attorney focuses on scientific evidence and plays up the contrast between American values (Show Me) and European snobbery. The jury is pretty solidly in Hahn’s camp, and Duveen settles out of court with Hahn in 1929.

Back to Kansas City. The Nelson has opened and is on an acquisition spree for great art. The city needs the best dealer money can buy and they hire … Duveen! He is the guest of honor at the Museum’s opening.

There are many other twists to the tale of the painting, which is mostly locked away in a bank vault over the ensuing decades.

Hahn later divorces and bitterly attacks what he calls the “art racket.” He writes a book, with support of Thomas Hart Benton, the Kansas City artist, and Frank Glenn, a rare book dealer. The book tells the story of the little man fighting against the art monopolist, but the book may have had its own ulterior motives in reigniting the controversy.

Now, with the January 2010 sale of the painting, we prepare for a new chapter.

Recent evaluators estimate that the painting dates from the 17th century, and they note that it contains pigments consistent with those Leonardo DaVinci would have used — perhaps even more consistent than a never-doubted DaVinci in the Louvre.

Meanwhile, we don’t know who the new owner is — only that it is an American in the entertainment industry. Another new character, another mystery.

This industrialist now owns a beautiful painting and it hardly matters if the painting is an authentic DaVinci or not.

Perhaps the true value is the story itself, the artwork as a foil for a study of human nature, greed, ego, cultural biases, the tension between art and profit.

Maybe this fascinating painting will again be the subject of critical assessment and scientific review, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a new ending to the tale.