A Year of Fridays
Part II: February

February has always been, for me, the cruelest of months, either in spite of its brevity or occasionally because of it. Winter never really feels real until this month. It's the only time during the year that I feel does not pass quickly enough.

Unusually, I had company with me this First Friday, for the first time in years. I'm never entirely certain whether or not art is-- or can be-- a shared experience. On the one hand, simply by viewing it in a gallery setting, particularly on a busy night, you are sharing the experience with everyone around you, and with others who have been by or will go by after you. Yet at the same time, art, truly great art, is a revelatory experience, and revelations are always personal, regardless of setting.

Much of the art that I saw this Friday was work that I'd seen before, either last month, or even the month before. However, because of the cold, and because I was with friends, I did not make my way to as many locations as I have on First Fridays in the past. If there was a great work that made its premiere last night in some gallery I passed by, I can only hope that it will wait until I can return on a later date.

In the gallery housed in my own building, just below me, there was a small body of figurative works that I found deeply interesting. They were manifestly the work of a younger artist, still searching for their full potential, and yet I was moved simply by the energy of them, the abandon, the willingness to explore with the paint. Perhaps because of my own fixation with the human form as a source of subject matter, I am endlessly fascinated by the various ways in which it can be presented. A rich piece is an almost visible dialogue between artist and subject. When the subject is us, is human, the dialogue seems richer still. To me, at least. But I have always had a fondness for art that tells a story.

The apparent local affinity for landscapes-- in particular cityscapes-- manifested itself yet again. In my time on the East Coast, I was often surprised at First Fridays to see the impact of graphic design and illustrative work on the art scene there. In the Midwest, or at least in this part of it, there is no sign of that. Here, it seems, they are still working over artists like Sheeler, Burchfield, and Wood. That is not a criticism of course. On occasion, I am too.

I wonder, in the final analysis, if I will be a product of my environment, or a reaction against it. And how much difference there really is either way.