a miracle or something -- turning heads

Artists, I only know a few, are mostly solitary dreamers, every afternoon in front of an easel alone with their fantasies. They imagine friendly openings in their hometown crowded with average people like themselves. The guy who works on their car says he thinks their stuff is swell and he’d sure like to have something above his service desk, so the artist says well the next time I need a repair, a big repair, and he says great idea, and so does the dentist, such a nice little town. Then the artist watches the evening news during a pandemic and sees all the talking heads sequestered at home.

These people aren’t the artist’s neighbors, they’re articulate and educated public figures immersed in urban culture and interacting at all levels all day, that’s their job. You’d think with an entire nation visiting them at home they’d find some credible piece of art to use as a backdrop on the wall behind them. I wouldn’t fault them for sticking to the facts, but it becomes clear pretty quick that art isn’t a high priority in their hi-rise urban dwellings, so how likely is it going to be that people in this little town are ever going to pay more than a nickel for something more personal than a sailing ship from the mall? In this moment you’re eavesdropping on a common solitary conversation in front of easels everywhere, and this sense of futility becomes an element in the paint and it’s an extra load to carry.

Well finally what happens is they all turn their heads at once, it’s like a miracle or something. One day some hard to place commentator with a peculiar point of view logs in with a visually compelling and thoughtful painting his cousin who drives a food truck made on the wall behind him. It lends credence to what he’s saying, and he's remembered. Like aroused sharks all the home-bound pundits are out looking for art that fortifies their well-reasoned points of view, but as usual they’d be behind the general population who are poised at this moment to begin valuing the art produced in their own hometowns. This dearth of art on the walls in middle america is like a desert waiting for rain, and then everything blooms overnight. In this season of magical thinking with things not even considered battering each moment’s expectations and in the realm of infinite possibilities it could happen. At some point some level of saturation will pass and each morning a few more people everywhere will wake up wanting to look at art without knowing why. Artists are also optimistic against all odds and that's in their paintings too.