The first collection in the space is entitled “Kaleidoscope Heart: An Exercise in Perception through Optics,” by Laura Fenwick. Eight brightly colored, square-cropped images created using self-modified lenses line the walls. The subjects of the photographs are unclear, but each image is titled with GPS coordinates. “I wanted to go into very public places where things might be overlooked or taken for granted,” she says. As for the coordinates, they allow viewers to “go back to that exact location.” She points out a particular image and explains that although the photograph is dominated by blues and greens, the subject—a rock formation on NIU’s campus that is, as she describes it, “grossly overlooked”—is, in reality, the color of most rock formations: brown. “Ultimately, my goal is for people to know that they can control the way they perceive things even though they can’t control how they see them,” Fenwick concludes.

Jessica Bronge’s statement begins and ends with the sentence, “Dreams are a small fragment in our lives; most of us pay no attention to them.” Her digital collages suggest things seen before—perhaps in a dream. Murky, muted colors and high contrast define Bronge’s dreamscapes, creating an otherworldly haze. The most striking image, titled “John the Baptist,” shows a man’s blurry, disembodied head superimposed on a tiled alcove, lit by a skylight. And some are more cryptic than others; determining their actual subjects takes study.

Recycled frames made of rough, light-colored wood outline Sarah Furman’s collection, whose colors and subjects incite a nostalgia more suggestive of film photography than digital. In fact, some of the images are scanned archival photographs of the artist and her family members. “They all have some sort of new element to them,” she says, alluding to the subtle architectural and textural overlays that make each image seem like a double-exposure. Some of the alterations and edits are almost imperceptible, including a thin mesh pattern on top of a self-portrait. She says that this collection has been her way of documenting “how relationships have changed my life, including my relationship with myself.” This turn inwards and backwards seems fitting for that period of impending graduation, and the general infatuation that our generation has with the question, “Why?”

“I’ve never been one to be in front of the camera, so this is very unusual,” Steven Connolly says of his collection, “Both sides of a Decision.” Presented via dye-sublimation on large rectangles of aluminum, his collection juxtaposes two different “sides” of himself, separated by the desire and motivation to lose weight. This literal take on the artist’s inner struggles proves not only courage on Connolly’s part, but also superb talent in post-processing and editing techniques. He says in his statement, “There is a side of me that is always trying to improve myself…this half is the one that sets goals and tries working towards them. Then there is the other side…this half questions everything that I do, undermines my progress and points out my flaws.” In one image, one side chooses a leaf blower and the other a rake; in another, one rides a bicycle uphill as the other sits in a black Jeep oriented downhill. One image even combines the two halves, showing him peering apprehensively into a mirror while his reflection points at him and yells.

Somehow, despite the wide range of both theme and technique throughout the individual collections, the four artists come together to make visual the journey of self-realization that has led up to this event.

Chicago Art Department, 1932 S. Halstead St. Free. (312) 725-4223. chicagoartdepartment.org

Zeynep Yavuz

Christian Saucedo bikes around Chicago, through residential neighborhoods and industrial overpasses. Equipped with masking tape and an eye for surfaces, he placates the police officers that question his motives. His canvasses are ceilings, floors, and walls; his tools are tape and a command of perspective.

Saucedo, a visual artist from Mexico, is the current artist-in-residence at the Chicago Art Department. Finding suitable sites and architectural spaces for his work requires days, but the planning that goes into each project takes even longer. He plots and sketches directly on the surfaces, abstaining from using a projector. About four days and roughly 500 meters of tape later, his work on each piece is done. And after three months, the project, “ESQUINAS,” is complete.

His exhibit presents photographs of the optical illusions he has constructed across Chicago’s urban landscape. The photographs were taken in apartment basements and under bridges. Each location is represented by four small pictures taken from four different angles. The images show strips of tape covering different surfaces, but a larger fifth picture offers a perspective that creates the illusion of a unified two dimensional shape.

In a room full of photographs, a single installation is on display—a giant oblong form that curves from the floor up across various surfaces in the room. What appears to be a mishap of disconnected lines taped on walls and floors from one angle looks like a perfect two-dimensional circle from another. The work “deals with human perception,” Saucedo says, noting that his works are entirely dependent on the observer’s movement and the various perspectives from which they view the piece.

Zeynep Yavuz

Walking around the gallery, Saucedo sports a blazer, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. His little son runs around the room, and flowers are passed out as Latin music plays in the background. The gallery space is equally endearing—the warmly tinted walls, yellowish lighting, and open spaces let the viewer indulge in perspective play. Circulating, crouching, and craning are strongly encouraged.

Photographs offer an imperfect means of displaying Saucedo’s public art installations. Photography limits the viewer to the perspective of the lens, presenting a scene from one angle at a time. However, the photographs from multiple viewpoints help to reveal Saucedo’s mastery of perspective.

With his tape works and photography, Saucedo complicates the standard vision of a place and makes the passerby pay closer attention. “Simple intervention in a place you see everyday” says Nat Soti, one of the co-founders of the Chicago Art Department, “makes you notice your environment,” However, Saucedo’s art does not fit the description of “simple intervention.” Both the artist and the viewer must actively search for the right spot.

Chicago Art Department, 1932 S. Halsted St., Suite 100. (312)725-4223. chicagoartdepartment.org

Sperry’s dense gallery of mute mannequin soldiers is at once forest, cemetery, phalanx, car dealership, food court, and gay bar. With the effete posture of David and the ornate rags of a steampunk Lady Gaga, the mesomorphic monoliths occupy the space so resolutely that I once barely caught myself exhale a wispy “excuse me” as I crept between a pair of the most fearsome. Yet these stoics, being subversive mirrors of the art scene patrons, are, so to speak, cracked. While they are Sperry’s children, they are also his friends and caretakers—and ours. He calls them “the people’s army from the future, a coalition to fight for every individual person—you and me, man—not conglomerated corporate interests.”

In his space, this conjectural Ragnarok is not hard to imagine. After all, as today’s youth eagerly flaunt defunct brand iconography collected from thrift store dollar bins, Sperry’s armory is similarly frankensteined together: Cadillac hood ornaments serve as crosshairs for glitter-spangled Super-Soakers aimed at the man. Meanwhile, shower nozzles and microwaves gas masks assemble foreboding visages. In this way, Sperry suggests these warriors are caught up in the same war against mainstream culture that is paradoxically fueled by relics of cultural consumption.

A fundamental capacity, however, separates these golems from the recalcitrant gallery-goers they seek to imitate and redeem—loyalty. If you’ll allow me another metaphor, think of a so-called “art crawl” like this one, situated in an impressive international city such as Chicago, as a kind of zoo. Visiting Oscar Luis Martinez’s showroom just across 18th Street, one finds the ecosystem of Latin American art conveyed as the putative sum of its crudely discernable, constitutive parts, each with immaculate pedigrees.

“This guy is a big deal,” Martinez says, gesturing to a wall of paintings with a vague imprecision that appears comprised of equal parts pride, insouciance, and inebriation. “He exploded when he had his show at the Museum of Contemporary Art last year.” He moves on, “This guy is known, but not in all circles. In some circles he’s a big deal.” Finally he settles on a distinct target of appraisal: a lyrical, slobbery abstract piece that, maybe because of the setting, looks like the interior of a piñata under siege. “Isn’t this painting amazing? Everyone loves this one. And the artist…is my daughter.”

The remark is arresting, and the painting even more so, but we leave abruptly after we finish our wine to move on to the next continent. We are chasing after the promise of a panoptical vantage point, where, after visiting each of the 41 galleries, we can look back and say we had seen not just something but it. Meanwhile, Sperry’s warriors, like the mosquito caught in amber on display in the zoo’s evolutionary history wing, never budge or avert their gaze.

The Fountainhead Lofts, 1932 S. Halsted. Second Friday of each month, 6pm-10pm. (312) 738-8000. chicagoartsdistrict.org

The program for the day included five galleries in Pilsen and Bridgeport: the Chicago Art Department, Ben Russell, Pentagon Gallery, Co-Prosperity Sphere, and Second Bedroom Project Space. Along with two traditional gallery spaces, bereft of signs of private, domestic lives, the tour included exhibition spaces located in artists’ bathrooms and living rooms. Glimpsing potted plants, spice racks, and collectable figurines personalized the experience of viewing art and revealed the convergence of two seemingly opposing worlds: home and work.

Ben Russell, co-curator, owner, and exhibiting artist at the Ben Russell space, consciously highlighted this aspect of his exhibition space. In each room, the visitor experiences the confusing duality of home and work. A museum bench sits in the middle of the photography/drawing room, yet glass doors reveal a kitchen. The “sculpture garden” is filled with brown leaves and old furniture, decayed from rain, next to a series of metal statues. Ben Russell explicitly omits the word “gallery” from the space’s name, thus obscuring its purpose and his relationship to the space. Is he the artist, curator, or owner? In this case, all three.

Second Bedroom Project Space, located in a small apartment, provides two exhibit spaces: one, an empty room just off of the sparsely furnished living room; the other, a medicine cabinet, located in the apartment’s only bathroom. The stipulation that all works in the bathroom incorporate the Medicine Cabinet perfectly embodies the same confusion of the creative process, home-life, and exhibition that marked the Ben Russell space. On display in the second bedroom is a collection of “objects left behind,” remnants of past shows and openings. Standing there in a home full of fragments, it was a refreshing reminder that art does not exist inside a bubble, but is in constant communication with both the personal and the public.

A salon performance by the Exponential (courtesy of Giovazkie Perez and Brian Murray)

Each of the performers is from Chicago and shares a personal connection to members of the Exponential, and a further common thread of experimental innovation ties the evening’s performances together. Neon Sea’s throbbing electronic soundscapes bear little resemblance to the heavily composed violin and cello prog storms of WUMMIN. Negotiating the space between anchored sound and improvisational odyssey, and traditional and non-traditional instrumentation, the Exponential’s music is grounded in heavy percussion, with layers of free-form vocals and strings, promising to induce the bliss of a soulful trance in all present.

The Exponential began three years ago as a collaborative effort between percussionist Brian Murray and Eastern string wielder Ben Perkins. Roughly a year ago, however, Margaret Morris, a friend of Murray’s wife, approached the two after one of their shows and suggested that they connect in the studio. Morris, a graduate of Columbia College Chicago with a BFA in Dance Choreography, brought both a physical presence to the group through movement, as well as another dimension of musical expression with her classically-trained voice.

Through Murray’s membership with the Chicago Art Department, the group was able to make use of one of the Department’s studios as a practice and recording space. They would spend hours brewing and recording their improvised sonic journeys, and then sit and discuss their performances at length. These critical sessions provide a window into what is perhaps the essence of the Exponential experience. As the title of the upcoming album suggests, the group’s creative output is more than just a combination of vocal and instrumental frequencies. Brian Murray explains that the title, “Encuentro,” refers to a “grand gathering of people…[and] spirits from far-off places.” Accordingly, Morris, Murray, and Perkins have striven not only to connect on a spiritual level in their performances, but also to create music that they personally enjoy. Murray also says of the group’s chemistry, “We really felt like our souls decided to gather in what we do…Our existence as a trio has sort of a life of its own, and so we kind of feel like our ideas, our souls, and our musical experiences come together as a gathering.”

By scrutinizing their output they were able to approach such a connection from different angles and in different forms, building on elements of the music that they felt best expressed their artistic bonds, and straying from those that did not. Due to the breadth and quantity of the group’s recorded material, these sessions were vital in determining the songs that made their way onto the album. “Encuentro” is comprised of ten tracks, all of which were recorded before last June. Given the amount of thought and consideration that went into determining the selection, “Encuentro” should be full of energy, nuance, and soul: a portrait of this trio’s spiritual connection through sound and movement.
Chicago Art Department, 1837 S. Halsted St. January 16. Saturday, 8-10:45pm. Doors open at 7:30. $10 suggested donation. theexponential.org

From the series "Control" by Jen Rosenthal; courtesy of the artist

The short-lived sand paintings of Tibetan monks are as ritualistic as they are aesthetic. Requiring days of concentration and effort, the paintings are destroyed in a matter of minutes. Their value depends essentially on faith. For the Chicago artist Jen Rosenthal, faith meant overcoming the fear that she would never be able “to say the words out loud: ‘I’m an artist.’” With ink and thread, she’s found a method to pursue her interest in forms and meaning. Her show “Control” opens this weekend at the Chicago Art Department collective gallery in Pilsen.

Rosenthal began her art career at the Illinois Institute of Art—Chicago not long after it was founded. She explains that while she was not challenged by her school experience, she nevertheless graduated with a strong background in animation, drawing, video, and collage. After taking a job designing slot machines, she felt her creative powers dwindling and reevaluated her position. Ultimately, Jen says, “I stopped fighting myself,” and pursued the art that interested her most: a meditative process of creating “arrows that crossed back and forth on each other,” circles, and organic lines.

Rosenthal’s work is a spiritual process of concentration and slow labor that soothes her qualms about the tempestuous world. Its material existence is consequently much less important than its creation. Like the Tibetan monks, she has even destroyed some of her own work, in her case by painting over it. In creating the works shown in “Control,” Rosenthal found solace from a world of conflict, consumer culture, and economic hardship. “Bush stole my 20s—we were a country at war,” she laments. The “idea of mass chaos” in our society is a major theme in her work, and through drawing she finds the mental space from which to subdue it. Rosenthal describes her work as “completely about the process; the end piece is almost just the icing on the cake.”

For Rosenthal, the Chicago Art Department helps facilitate the artistic exploration of adults like herself who want to exercise creativity outside of work. The collective was started by three Chicago art teachers who provided a “kind of an after-school program for adults.” Now a resident artist as well as Director of Development there, Rosenthal confesses to identifying with the collective personally. In the midst of the drunken crowds attending Friday night openings, “Control” is her own oasis of tranquility. Chicago Art Department, 1837 S. Halsted St. Through April 24. Opening reception April 10. Friday, 6-10pm. Afterwards by appointment only. chicagoartdepartment.org

In observation of Halloween and zombie season, CAD’s Kerry Flaherty prompted twenty-six artists from Chicago and beyond to “zombify” a favorite musician, author, or artist. The result is a goofily macabre collection of artwork undead-ifying everyone from Franz Kafka to Kurt Cobain.

The show opened last Friday during Pilsen’s monthly art walk, attracting a friendly crowd of attractive, young Pilsen gentrifiers (the pre-yuppie wave) who twirled their asymmetrical haircuts between their cigarette-stained fingers, nodding to Biz Markie—he’s recognizable enough to spin now that ”The Wackness” came out—and swilling the free wine in little plastic cups as they contemplated the art.

While the show has a few duds—the plush zombie sculptures are kind of lame—there are plenty of inventive and gruesome zombie drawings and paintings. The artist Creepy painted a delightfully grisly Van Gogh gesturing with his severed ear stabbed on the tines of a fork. The flesh-eating Yoshitomo Nara reinterpretation by Stacy Peterson is hilarious. Definitely make sure to check out Philadelphia artist Mark Mattson’s zombie tribute to Ed Ruscha, in which he portrays the condiment-painting artist as a cracked-out bottle of zombie mustard streaking gleefully into a neon-lit city street. It’s both beautiful and strangely poignant. The informative and amusing artist’s statements posted next to most pieces are also worth attention.

With its goal of fostering the careers of just-blossoming artists, the Chicago Art Department gallery cultivates a welcome unpretentiousness. The gallery’s desire to include inexperienced artists means that it’s a mixed bag of talent on display, but the audience certainly won’t be made to feel like it needs a degree in art history or a seven-figure income to hang out and appreciate the art.

Since the gallery is usually only open by appointment, the best time to see “Night of the Living Artist” is at the closing party early on Halloween evening. Set the mood for the evening by taking in the rotting zombie tongues, gnawed-off bloody stumps, and undead eyes with a vacant soullessness rivaled only by Cindy McCain’s. Or just take the opportunity to mingle with the faux-”I don’t give a fuck”-haircut-sporting crowd, avail yourself of the booze, enjoy the gallery’s resident DJ Tapedek, and maybe appreciate the chance to see famous dead artists “alive” again—in only the loosest possible sense.
Chicago Art Department, 1837 S. Halsted St. By appointment only. Closing “Halloween” Party: October 31. Friday, 7-10pm. chicagoartdepartment.org

Art’s always been important. Not just music; all kinds of art. It’s spiritual. I mean, it’s hard to explain: it’s just a feeling. I’d be creating music…Right now, I’m creating music and it depends on how I’m feeling. Everyday is different. The whole picture is relative.

You need art everywhere. It keeps us alive. We just happen to be on the South Side. If we’d be on the North Side it would be the same.

…We need art. Art has always been. We develop and play music here [at the Velvet Lounge] and some musicians might not go far, but some will.
- Fred Anderson
Velvet Lounge

Pilsen has given me a great opportunity to interact with the public directly from my art studio. Living and working within the Chicago Arts District for the past four years has helped me actively put my work out on the Chicago scene. Being able to work full-time on my art and support myself is important. I definitely have been lucky, but utilizing the tools that surround me has aided my pursuits.
- Gabe Lanza
Lanza Studio

Art matters because at its core art does not matter. That’s what I love about it. Our lives are full of things that “matter,” be it our jobs, our family and friends, the things going on in our city, not to mention the country and the world. Art is an oasis. It is the open and empty space we can fill with whatever we want. And the beauty of it is that at the end of the day what we put on that blank canvas does not matter (except maybe to our ego). It does not matter whether we like it or not. It does not matter whether we understand it or not. It doesn’t even matter whether we pay attention to it or not. And so we can say, “try it, do it, why the hell not!” We need art because we need the blank canvas. We need empty spaces to experiment, to explore, to be bold, and most importantly make mistakes and fail. It is how we learn and how we grow.

This is why I love being an artist in Chicago. Chicago is a city characterized by its empty spaces and “blank canvases,” where art can happen in this unique way. Whether it is the physical space of our raw, empty lofts and industrial spaces, the mental space marked by the lack of the “industry” mentality that dominates other cities, or even our Midwestern sense of humility, sincerity and accessibility, Chicago’s artistic culture is infused with a spirit of “it does not matter.” It’s why many of America’s greatest artists and entertainers got their start in Chicago. It is a city in which artists can feel free to explore, develop and find their artistic voices while testing that voice in the arena of a great city. And while we lament that our artists often leave Chicago for greener pastures, I know that these same artists take pride in saying they are from Chicago—even going so far as to still call it home. I’d like to think that, like home, it is that place of comfort. It is that place you can always return to. To create art that does not matter.
It’s not that Chicago needs art. Art needs Chicago.
- Nat Soti
Chicago Art Department

On the “South Side” we would say your question is bogus!

The purpose of art is linked with the purpose of human life. Human beings make, and have always made, meaningful and communicative marks on all types of surfaces within their environments. It is a defining feature of our species. Art matters if we matter. So why is there today a question coming from the University of Chicago community on the purpose and need of art on the “South Side”? What branch of intellectual study questions the need of essentials in a geographical area? All of us need art to be human.

Art is being created on the “South Side” of Chicago and has been created continually on the south side of every other place since ‘day one.’ What type of being questions art’s significance for a particular area of the globe? … Are they dismissing an area as devoid of art, and in dire need of art, because they have not ventured into that area to see the marks that are made there?… Or are they actually questioning the significance/existence of art in those areas because they see the residents as “others” incapable of producing “art”?… Or worse are they anti-intellectual and have never fully studied their own art history, its borrowings, influences, cross fertilizations, and believe theirs is the only evolved significant art? If they didn’t do it, no art exists?

I am part of an organization (Diasporal Rhythms) that promotes the collection of contemporary art produced by artists of African descent (others?). What we find is that art has always been produced, collected, and appreciated on “every” side and that the appreciators of such have an obligation to hold it up for acclaim. If it isn’t held up, it is usually lost. Our organization is within a long art appreciation tradition stretching back to the founder of this city. The art history of the “South Side” needs to be carefully studied.

The questions posed to your University audience should, more appropriately, be (a) how do we assist in the promotion of art creation and art appreciation activities that are already occurring in and around the University and (b) how do we leverage the material and intellectual resources of the University (without changing its mission) in concert with those of community individuals and cultural institutions to read, study, and preserve the artistic marks produced, and being produced, and thereby foster a fuller understanding of local art history and reduce the concept of “otherness” in this community?
- Patric McCoy
Diasporal Rhythms

I will mention only the relevance in terms of art’s audience. One thing art does is to attract and affect an audience. What the members of the audience discover is that they are together in their appreciation of the art, and this is of enormous importance in their coming to understand that they have things in common with one another, and to that degree that they are alike. Of course this happens with things besides art, but it is especially pronounced in the case of art, and often most complicated and textured there.

The South Side art I’m most familiar with is jazz. The role it plays here, in addition to what I noted above, is an extremely important interracial role. Oddly, ironically, and somewhat sadly, although historically jazz is very much the creation of black artists, of late its principal audience is mostly white. On Chicago’s South Side, however, both the musicians and their audience are racially mixed. The commonality thus engendered is enormously valuable, and it can lead to much more. This is perhaps not so very different from the racially mixed audiences for sporting events, and the fans of Chicago teams, but here, somehow, the object of interest seems more subtle and deep.

The University does what it can, I suppose, and lately it has been doing more. No university can do everything, and traditionally the University of Chicago is academically conservative. This is its strength, no doubt, but it means that the University cannot afford heavy investments in things outside canonical academic pursuits. There is no strong tradition here, for instance, of the performing arts. It is nearly impossible for students to earn academic credit in the performing arts. This isn’t such a bad thing. It means that the opportunities for amateur artistic activity are extensive, and the room is not being taken up by professional and pre-professional artists.
- Ted Cohen
Professor of Philosophy, University of Chicago

People trying to make positive change in poor neighborhoods often seem focused solely on providing basics like improved housing or after school programs or health care. There is no question that services of this kind are crucial, but it is equally as important to remember that having access to things that are beautiful is part of what makes life worth living. One reason that Art in Action is so valuable is because it helps, in a small way, to satisfy this very real need for pleasure, fun, and loveliness in Woodlawn. Moreover, I think that making and enjoying art is something that speaks to most everyone, regardless of age, background, or socio-economic status. In this context, Art in Action unites citizens of the University and the surrounding neighborhood by illuminating what we have in common, and providing a safe forum for the discussion of how we can all come together over making the area we share the best it can be, regardless of our differences. The experience of creating art with people who we don’t typically relate to or empathize with helps us all to deconstruct the traditional boundaries, misunderstandings, and stereotypes that keep University students, faculty, and staff separate from our neighbors to the south. Even if it is just for a day, Art in Action draws us together as one community, and ideally, equips us to better understand and relate to one another even after it has come to an end.
- Hannah Birnbaum
Southside Solidarity Network, a University of Chicago club that organizes the Art in Action Festival every spring

I think [art] is very significant, the artists that create works of art are a voice to the public speaking on different issues—especially in the African-American community. It gives people a visual opportunity to conceive the concerns they’re dealing with on an ongoing basis, and see how people view the world at a specific point in time…what I create in 2008 can be looked back at in 2048. Art provides a historical point of view for the future. And from there we can see how things are constantly repeating themselves…like education, politicians have been talking about how we have to fix it for the past 200 years, but if I cover it in an art piece, it’s like, let’s get this thing fixed already.

[As for South Side art], I would have to say that from an institutional point of view the South Side art is primarily African-American, and in Chicago the institutions that support art are not primarily African-American—they show African-American art, but it’s not an institutionalized thing, you can’t see it on an everyday basis…it’s not [accessible] over a period of time and you don’t have that tangential access to it. If we didn’t have these institutions [on the South Side], a lot of people would have to go downtown—we need to spread these institutions across the city, get more people access to it. [When you can only view art downtown], people get intimidated—like you have to have a certain status to [view] it…I want it to be an ordinary process, get people’s mindsets to change a little bit, have people feel like it’s no big deal.

We look at our lives in the world as certain things we know we need for sure like shelter, or food and water…but just try to image a world without art—no music, no theater, no visual arts—what would you be doing? It’d be outrageous, it’d be like having no water…we need to get art into people’s lives, give people a way to express themselves.
-Bryant Johnson
Steelelife Gallery

Reported by: Sam Feldman, Laura Harmon, Yennie Lee, Julia Pagnamenta, Sean Redmond, Rachel Reed, and John Thompson

It’s 10pm on a Sunday night and Todd Frugia, proprietor of Rooms gallery in Pilsen, had just gotten home after a long day at work on the set of a McDonald’s commercial. Unlike some of his peers who complain about the need to do corporate work to pay the bills, Frugia doesn’t despair. “There’s a point where, in that realm, I’m pleasing my client, and I need my paycheck! I will acquiesce there, and do what they want. And then when I come home [to my studio], no one tells me what to do!” Frugia and his wife, Marakesh, have worked and lived in Pilsen for about ten years. The second floor of their gallery, called Rooms, is their home. “One of the guys I hired to do my camera operation is from the South Side; there’s a group of us (here) that are sort of professionals, sort of artists—there’s a real community.” Indeed, a “personal connection” between artists and their galleries distinguishes the community in Pilsen.

“It’s different from the intimidating galleries in the West Loop; they do great work, but I go in and I feel separated from it. And I come down here and see Gabe Lanza’s illustrations and I meet his family and his cats, and he’s (also) worried about bills; and his work is outstanding and it’s right there and I could buy a piece! It’s that personal connection. Even the MCA or the Art Institute, I go and expect beautiful pieces, but it’s so far away…” In regards to his experience as an artist on the South Side, Frugia ruminates, “we came here and met some friends who are photographers and video artists and almost immediately they took us in and we began to collaborate—that’s the spirit here.” Once Rooms Productions settled into its home on West 18th Street and built a small inventory of actors, camera crew, etc, Frugia noticed “…a texture to this environment, it’s just addictive: you want to stay here and work and create… It’s such a welcoming community: you can come in on any level, and if you’ve got good ideas you can work. That’s what’s unique to the South Side, and Pilsen in particular.”

Frugia recently returned from teaching an acting class at Colorado College. He thought it might also be a good opportunity to get some work of his own done. He admits it was a meaningful teaching experience, “but as far as writing or creating—I wasn’t like Walt Whitman, I just wanted to ski and relax. And then I come home and back to the texture.” He added, “I’ve never created as much as I have down here, it’s important to foster that. The key for me here is there’s a lot of energy…The South Side helps bring art out of you.” So for Frugia, the need is not bringing art to the South Side as much as bringing people to the South Side to see it. Those people comprise essentially two groups. On the one hand, those who live on the South Side but “feel intimidated by the gallery, as if it wasn’t for them.” On the other hand are artists on the North Side that show reluctance to trek down south, with excuses like safety and parking, despite support from artists in this area. “It’s about making the neighborhood more comfortable with that, but (also) making those North Siders more comfortable with it.” While Frugia doesn’t view art on the North vs. South Sides as a competition, “you start rooting for the South Side [all the same]” he admits. “On the one hand there’s a logical, aesthetic piece of me that says it’s great to bring [art] to this area; the North Side has this great history of art and theater but…something in the air down here, it’s more energized.”

When asked about incentive to work on the South Side, his response was anything but martyrdom. Quite the opposite, “I just saw it and thought wow, that looks like a great place to create… There’s just that right mix of grittiness, life, art and vibrancy that makes this area so vivid…it’s not about bringing art to the South Side, art already lives here, we just need to bring it out…” Every third Thursday Frugia personally helps bring art out rather than to the South Side, when he opens Rooms gallery for “Salon.” This is an impromptu performance, essentially prepared by forming a list of individuals from whom Frugia has received interest. It is an outlet for aspiring artists to perform or display any form of art. This in part responds to his “gripe” concerning the South Side: “When I was on the North Side, I kept feeling like I needed a lucky break.” Frugia noted numerous organizations that help showcase South Side art: the South Side Arts Network (which his wife Marrakesh recently joined), the Mexican Cultural Center, and the integral “Second Friday” event in Pilsen. The proximity of artists to their art is unique to the South Side, and for Frugia this is an important goal of art. “People like us who have to go during the day do the corporate work but come back to your gallery and do what you want.” (Rachel Reed)

For Sociology professor Terry Clark, art is part of “making culture into magic.” It fulfills the aesthetic demands of particular social groups and serves as an integral part of the rise of “scenes,” an increasingly vibrant unit of social activity. With post-industrial trends like a general increase in education, income level, individualism, and social tolerance, individuals come to regard art as a valuable amenity, not just a peculiar or interesting aspect of cultural life. This trend makes art socially meaningful not just on an individual level, but on the broader level of community cohesion, political action, and economic development.

“Traditional models of urban economic growth point to production, land, labor, capital, management, and later, human capital. But as these new post-industrial, post-modern cultural trends take place, cultural amenities such as art become increasingly important elements of economic growth as they attract the creative, young classes who have the human capital necessary to fulfill the needs of the new creative, service-based economy. But,” he clarifies, “it is not art in general that inherently holds social value, it’s about the kinds of art and scenes in specific locations and how they cater to the different aesthetic styles and cultural values of individuals.”

Particular local cultural preferences manifest themselves in “scenes,” which can be described in terms as diverse as “Disney Haven” and “Cool Cosmopolitanism.” Art acts as an essential part of these scenes, attracting individuals who want to consume particular kinds of culture and participate in new kinds of social interaction as well as tourists. From the local to the global level, the growing importance of art summed up in scenes is reshaping political and economic trends, as governments must respond to scenes as important social entities and businesses must respond to the cultural sensitivities they demand. (Laura Harmon)