During high school and college I can remember my distaste for lectures. To me, learning by listening to someone blabber for more than a half-hour is as exciting (and effective) as learning to drive by watching someone else do it. In the end, the more involved I am in the learning process the more my brain can absorb. So I’m still not sure why I ended up at an art lecture about the work of Modigliani. No, actually I do know why. I had read a little about Modi’s life and it reminded me in a strange way of the late rapper Tupac Shakur, whose life outside of music was more compelling than the music itself. I wasn’t all that interested in Modi’s art, but his life had caught my attention and so I was curious to hear what the experts had to say about this extreme personality in art. The lecture was sterile and for the most part so was the audience. I had heard the term “common man” mentioned a few times, probably because Modi was a common man himself. But despite all this talk of “common man”, for the most part I was the closest thing to a common person in the entire audience. The balance was pretty much wealthy old white people who purchased their place at the top of the gallery mailing list.

Despite the title of “Public Art Gallery”, this gallery has an air of selectivity that ironically weeds out the public. In fact, at most art openings I generally find very little evidence of this mythical “public.” Does this public even exist? Is this yet another urban legend? Before I wrote this article, I had to find out for sure. So I went back to the same gallery with a special mission that did not include looking at art, but looking for the public. I did find people there. In fact, I found a guy who I suppose could technically count as “the public.” He had salt and pepper hair and carried a pen with him. Since I didn’t see any paper or a small notepad, I’m assuming the pen was a prop. Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to bring a camera with me so I found some stock photos that bare a striking resemblance.

Now that I look at it, that last photo is closer to what you would find if public art galleries were truly public. Alas, the rest of the public was probably out enjoying the last real “public art” that I know of – movies. Unlike its
distant cousin – theater – a movie house actually feels like its open to everybody. And, yes, you get art. Halle Berry’s Berries on the big screen is the modern day version of a nude canvas that was once deemed distasteful.

If anything public art is more likely to be seen hanging up at a coffee shop where it is treated as “low art.” That is, until it finds a more private venue. That explains those self-orchestrated low-budget exhibitions that are miniature replicas of what you find at “High Art” Galleries. The forumla is the same: White walls. Wine, cheese and crackers. Formal dress. Art talk. Small talk. Friends and family. But no public.

At the end of the evening everybody breaks for an exquisite dinner at a nearby restaurant. Everyone’s proud to have punctuated their comfortable lives with some culture. Good for them. The artist got to be a star for a day. Good for him... or her. The museum got some exposure and a few more points for the next grant proposal. Bravo. But the public, as far as I can tell, got nothing. Not that they would care. They were probably at the movies.