Critical MAS: Opening Night – Observations from a Local Artist

Written by Sunny Selby

In the gallery, I am struggling to see. The Mayor’s Art show is packed. The space surges and collapses as people shuffle through. The scene has all the cathartic effluence of speed dating or the line at the concession stand at a baseball game. I try to take a moment with the art in front of me. I square my shoulders to the piece. A man steps in front of me, dragging a woman -possibly his wife – by the wrist. I feel the pressing of figures as I fight the urge to look at my phone, Google the artist, find their web page, see what they are like in the real world. 

Later I find myself resisting the desire to manufacture a feeling about the experience. I struggle to hear the question that each artwork asks of me, even while recognizing this as an unfavorable sign when attempting to engage with art. I slip into an old practice of asking myself questions to slow the decline in my mood. Do I feel the art when I am able to relate to the work? Do I feel the art when I am alone with only the energy of the piece and myself? Is the surrounding space, or context, a crucial element? I look around at so many competing voices in the artists present; those standing in the room observing as well as those represented in their work. I also imagine the voices calling out from across the street in The New Zone Gallery – part of the dialogue by omission. I recall my 9th grade jazz band director reminding me that it is the “spaces between the notes” that make for the most profound improvisational solos. I wonder if all those rejected pieces in the Salon des Refuses are the spaces between the notes.

I don’t get to contemplate the art until I get home. I load up my photos onto my laptop. I look to see if there is something there I missed. As an artist myself, I have learned not to trust my judgment on first impact but to look twice at what the original observation has to teach me. I look closely at the reference photo I took of Amrita Dutia’s “Obama Portrait” and notice the reflection of one of this year’s MAS Jurors, Milla Oliveira. I’m reminded of her words spoken in our writing class one day, when discussing art criticism, “There are no ethics, and I like it.” Finally set free to examine the truth of my experience, I am reminded of the fragility of human connections. I find so much alike and sometimes painfully dissonant in our explorations of each other. I begin to feel such a deep sense of gratefulness. 

I put away all the reference photos and only reflect upon the vast energies – similar and dissonant – I was exposed to at this year’s Mayor’s Art Show and Salon des Refuses. I realize that I cannot possibly write on a single piece, for they all brought a part of this great conversation to life. I can only say that if you have not taken the opportunity to stand in a single room of varied artistic energies and opened your heart, mind, and soul to the ways it can seep in, then maybe you should explore these art shows while they still exist. If you feel nothing, step back and wait, perhaps it won’t happen in that basement room or even at the dinner you share after with friends. The energies of that room may creep in when you step in the shower and let the water run over your face, or pull your quilt up to your chin at night, or when you lift a kaleidoscope to your eye playing with your grandchild, or even as you sit in church beneath the shifting light of stained glass, possibly on the city bus in a slow commute. Not a single two of us are alike. This is a power that demands and deserves our observation. 

To learn more about the writing in the Critical MAS series, go to Critical MAS: Introduction.