Being away from the city seems effortless and right for the summer, but not until you get back into Chicago’s jungle of people and cars and art and schools do you realize just how much you’ve missed it. I always, towards the end of the season, get antsy for routine and inspirational assignments, and then finally the cold lake air hits your face and you’re suddenly sitting in an Illustration room, jotting down ideas for hot sauce bottles, and you feel alright again.
As becoming closer to my friends trickles its way into being my new routine, some of us spotted a last second chance to re-enter the Loop’s art scene. Fantastic Landscapes, a Columbia College and Pop-Up Art Loop initiative, opened just down the block from the American Academy of Art, and with an open door and the smell of bread and wine wafting into the street, who could resist? On the door, a short and sweet description read:
“A selection of photography, sculpture and painting that distorts, challenges, expands, alters and makes abstract the traditional notion of landscape in art.”
The gutted insides of this room were exactly as I expected, and I say that in the most pleasant way I can, because it was truly a wonderful back-to-school experience. While true to a typical gallery form, with paintings and photographs lining the walls, sculptures and the like on pedestals, the content – oh lord, the CONTENT- of the gallery was astoundingly different. A bolivia bug of yarn masses divided the room’s conversations and cliques, which essentially forced people around to the different pieces, if only to open their eyes just a little to the varying possibilities of what landscape really means. Is it the vast valley of wildflowers or is it a cerebral adventure akin to the Magic School bus?
Although photography is a crystal clear love of mine, the paintings drew my attention immediately, and perhaps this was with a little help from a skeptical friend. Violet Sunset 4, a mixed media painting by Lisa Majer, seemed to be our greatest inspiration for discussion. With the gallery so packed, we were unable to step back from it, but also not resting painfully close to it. In turn, it was only after I left with a small flier in my hand that I saw the burning hills of dusk and the jaded twilight sky. If you’ve ever seen Amelie’, you might imagine a kind of moment like that of the blind man feeling a sudden inner ability of sightless sight; an epiphany. This painting was an epiphany. Much of the photography caught my attention as well, including a lovely night-time sky, which made me so fondly remember camping in Wisconsin. The stars are endless.
I curiously wonder a little at this moment whether the attendees were there for the true purpose of a gallery. Despite the few drifters I spotted paying close attention to the work, it seemed like the room was stuffed with students huddled into small groups of familiar faces. Not that I’m much of an eavesdropper, but the conversations were devoid of art or inspiration otherwise. Maybe it wasn’t my place to assume, but I feel sad at the idea that galleries are becoming ‘hang-out’ spots, the art left ignored and neglected on its dusty walls. I hope I can be proven wrong of this idea, I really do. Maybe I’m overly entranced by art, so much so that I expect others to be on the same level of passionate eye-wandering as myself. Or they are, and they are much more subtle. Both of these options seem entirely possible. I’m an overly talkative, obviously expressive person when it comes to a subject of interest.
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