Why art reviews in newspapers are like public art

When he was exasperated, which was often, the voice of long-time PI A&E editor Duston Harvey carried across the newsroom. Even though I sat next to him, he regularly forgot to lower it for a private exchange.

Harvey: Jesus Christ, Regina. Your lead is dead.
Me: Don't you admire its conceptual rigor?
Harvey: Even if there were hope, which there isn't, I don't have time for CPR.

Although (and sometimes because) he could be abrasive, sarcastic, impatient and a tough sell for an art critic, I remember our time together fondly. He could find clarity in a muddle and never lost sight of the ultimate goal: to connect to a general audience without losing the interest of the already on-board.

Before Billy Howard moved his gallery (Howard House) to Pioneer Square, he was unhappily in Belltown. Howard had grown sick of the intrusions of the drug trade and asked me to write a story about it, here. The day it appeared, a member of the community he deplored approached him on the street to suggest he and his ilk were displeased by the tone of the coverage. Then the dealer in drugs punched the dealer in art in the face.

While expressing sympathy for a bruised friend, I felt a secret and shameful thrill. Drug dealers are reading art stories!

One day on the Vashon Ferry, I saw a woman pick up the PI's entertainment section and page through. She read Gene Stout (rock) and William Arnold (movies). Theater she treated with a once-over-lightly scan, and classical music she skipped entirely. Her eyes fell on my page. I waited. She read the headline, looked at the picture and passed me by. Had I been sitting closer, I might have tried to talk her into reconsidering. (Ok, the lead's slow, but you might be interested in...)

If I connected with any public outside the previously committed, I'm not aware of it, but I appreciated the decades-long, never-say-die chance to try.

Time to say die.

Art magazines and art blogs are the journalistic equivalent of studio art, while an art review in a newspaper is like public art. Anyone from any background might happen upon it.

Where I write now does not exist in a generalized public sphere. A street sweeper on coffee break will not happen upon a leftover copy of this blog and be drawn into a review. A woman getting her heels buffed won't find it on the empty seat beside her and be motivated to see an exhibit of which she might otherwise not have heard.

For an art critic, the death of newspapers is the death of potential connection to wider worlds. Everyone who reads this blog has a preexisting condition, otherwise known as an interest in art.

On the other hand, there are notable benefits. Where I'm writing now, nobody tells me what to do and nobody derides my blog just because it's a blog.

Below, the thoughts on blogs from the final three (in the final two years) PI A&E editors.

Duston Harvey (my favorite by a mile): You're wasting too much time on that blog.
Emily White: I hope you don't think I have time to read your blog.
John Levesque: I hate blogs. (Big sigh)