Easy keyhole art

Easy keyhole art DEFAULT

If you are looking for an easy outdoor excursion for the entire family, just head just south of Boulder City to Keyhole Canyon.

A narrow canyon in the mountainside, filled with petroglyphs and a few pictographs, and culminating in a smooth dryfall, the place has a unique, romantic, and almost magical feel. It’s a great place to spend a spring morning, and exploring the canyon itself is such an easy, short hike that just about anyone in your family can enjoy it.

The canyon is located at an elevation of 2,854 feet in the western foot of the Eldorado Mountains, and managed by the Bureau of Reclamation. A four-wheel-drive vehicle and good off-road tires will easily get you to the trailhead at the canyon mouth. In mild weather, an experienced hiker can even get there on foot from the hard-surfaced road.

Keyhole Canyon itself can be hiked in only 15 minutes or so, but any additional time you spend viewing and photographing the rock art will be well invested, paying off in memorable photos and vivid memories.

The rock here is mainly quartz monzonite. As you approach the canyon you will notice a dark coating on the cliff faces and boulders which is called desert varnish. It forms over rock throughout the arid Southwest. Much of the varnish is black but some have a more red patina. It is composed of clay particles with the addition of iron and manganese oxides, as well as trace elements.

Rocks covered with varnish are the most common locations in our region to find pre-historic American Indian petroglyphs. This kind of art was made by pecking away the varnish with some hard object, exposing the lighter color underneath.

Most of the glyphs here are abstract, ranging from simple lines to complicated symbols, although you will find recognizable figures such as human forms, bighorn sheep and lizards. The best place to see them is at the mouth of the canyon just yards from the parking area. Bring binoculars to get a good look at those panels that are located high up on the cliff walls.

Once within the mouth of the canyon, look around among the large boulders on the south side, and you will also find a few pictographs. These were painted on the rock, and those that remain today are found in protected areas such as overhangs and other areas protected from the weather by the boulders. In this canyon, they were painted with red ochre, a natural clay pigment.

Rare sights you will find here are cupules. They suggest small, a few inches or so, circular scooped-out cups for ice cream. I have seen them on tops of boulders near the parking area on the left side of the canyon. It is said they were used for ceremonial purposes by American Indians.

Do not climb on or within 100 feet of any rock art. Also, it is important to remind every one of your group not to touch the rock art as the oil from our hands will damage them. This time of year, rattlesnakes are still out and about, so remember to never put your hands or feet anywhere you haven’t looked first.

Directions to Trailhead:

  • From Pahrump take NV-160 south about 52 miles to Las Vegas. Merge onto I-215 east and drive about 12 miles.
  • Merge onto I-215 east and drive about 12 miles.
  • Merge onto I-215 east and drive about 12 miles.
  • Merge onto US-93/95 south and drive about 8 miles.
  • Exit right on U.S. 95 south toward Searchlight. Drive for 15.7 miles and go left through the median on the paved crossover. (This will be 5.9 miles after the Nelson turnoff.)
  • Follow this gravel road for 2.1 miles and go right at the power lines.
  • Follow the powerline road for about 1.8 miles, then go left just after power-line tower 23E3.
  • Follow this track for about 0.3 miles to parking area.

Deborah Wall is the author of “Base Camp Las Vegas, Hiking the Southwestern States,” “Great Hikes, A Cerca Country Guide,” and co-author of “Access For All, Touring the Southwest with Limited Mobility.” Wall can be reached at [email protected]

Sours: https://pvtimes.com/entertainment/day-trips-keyhole-canyon-a-great-place-for-ancient-rock-art-viewing/

If your appetite for Van Gogh was whetted by the five wonderful canvases shown at the Taft Museum’s current “Impressions of Landscape,” you should promptly schedule a road trip to Chicago where the Art Institute is showing “Van Gogh’s Bedrooms,” an exhibition designed to contextualize the three different versions Van Gogh painted of “The Bedroom” in his house in Arles in the late 1880s. This is the only venue in the world to see the show, which features some forty works, about half of which are from abroad (especially from Amsterdam’s Van Gogh Museum) and a quarter of which are from the Art Institute’s own fabulous collection of Post-Impressionists. This includes version number two of “The Bedroom,” the first one to have entered a public collection anywhere in the world, which found its way to Chicago as part of the same gift that included Seurat’s “La Grande Jatte.” Though the Van Gogh is in every way intimate and the Seurat is in every way monumental, it turns out that Van Gogh saw the Parisian pointillist as one of his most significant influences and touchstones.

Van Gogh, “The Bedroom,” all three versions (1888-89)

It is sobering, in thinking about Van Gogh, to realize how short a career he had. He decided to be a painter in 1880 and before July of 1890 was over, he was dead, a suicide. In those ten years, he produced some nine hundred paintings plus over a thousand additional sketches and drawings. The Taft show’s Van Goghs focus on the work he did in Auvers where he went to give himself a respite from Arles in southern France, the site of The Yellow House whose bedroom provides the crux of Chicago’s exhibition. In that distant suburb of Paris, in a little over two months, Van Gogh produced, on average, more than a painting per day.

In Chicago’s construction of Van Gogh’s career, all roads lead to Arles. After spending two years absorbing all he could of the Paris scene, he fled the pressure and the high prices in search of a place he could call both his actual and his metaphorical home. (Van Gogh did a fair amount of fleeing in his life. As the show’s catalogue notes, in his blazingly short life of 37 years, he lived in 37 houses in 24 cities in 4 countries.) In Arles, he rented The Yellow House, where he hoped to establish “The Studio of the South,” where artists could live and work together and sort out what was truly most important about life and about the painting going on in Paris. And of those artists who might live and work together, he had in mind, chiefly, Gauguin. In many ways, The Yellow House in Arles was designed to be the perfect invitation, inspiration, and perhaps cage in which Van Gogh hoped to capture the slightly older artist. In the end, Gauguin—a man who knew a fair amount about fleeing himself—spent about two months living with Van Gogh. Soon both were on the road again, Van Gogh heading north and Gauguin to Tahiti.

Van Gogh, “A Pair of Shoes, One Shoe Upside Down” (1887)

Had they spent more time together, Gauguin would have been with an artist who was just hitting his stride. As part of the buildup to the bedroom paintings, the Chicago show helps us see, almost to the moment, just when Van Gogh became Van Gogh—which is to say, when the Dutch Van Gogh became the French Van Gogh. It’s made visible in two pairs of shoes. Over his career, Van Gogh painted over a half dozen different versions of pairs of empty shoes. They constituted a highly suggestive subject, evoking the physically difficult domestic life of the working man and the haunting romance of things that are matched up two by two, a motif that seemed to be much on Van Gogh’s mind throughout his career. The shucked shoes provide a sense of wholeness and completeness, but also a sense of absence and the bereft. In 1887, he painted “A Pair of Shoes, One Shoe Upside Down,” which looks of a piece with his earlier work featuring impoverished Dutch workers with their sorrow and energy, and the grey-brown dinginess that defines their lives. In the same year, in Paris, he painted “A Pair of Boots,” and the difference is spectacular. Color is suddenly important: bright colors, lyric colors, soft colors. The first painting is a solemn document; the second is a still life with shoes taking the place of flowers or a good meal. To be sure, Van Gogh never abandoned his sense of himself as a painter who displayed his social concerns; we see more of that in his work than in any of the Impressionists and virtually any of the Post-Impressionists. But in Paris, he had learned what colors could do–not primarily Monet’s colors which uncannily capture the fleeting moment, but especially the more calculated colors of Seurat. (He may have drawn from Monet the possibility of seriality.) And from Seurat, Van Gogh also got new ideas about what brush strokes were and how they worked together while each stroke was still maintaining its autonomy, like pieces of a mosaic. He associated the independence of each mark on his canvas with his core values; he wrote to his brother in 1888 that “The Bedroom,” when compared to other recent paintings he had completed, is “simpler and more virile. No stippling, no hatching, nothing, the tints flat, but in harmony.”

Van Gogh, “A Pair of Boots” (1887)

In the same year, he painted “Grapes, Lemons, Pears, and Apples” (1887), which is remarkable for its circular organization. The fruit seems to sit on a cloud, surrounded by a halo. In the process, Van Gogh has released himself from the tyranny of the horizon line. It is interesting how many paintings in the exhibition display some degree of freedom from the horizontal, such as “Entrance to the Public Gardens in Arles” (1888). At the very end of his career, he returned aggressively to the horizontal with a series of double-wide panoramic landscapes (some of which are reproduced in the Taft’s Daubigny catalogue). But in the brief moment when Van Gogh found his style, the horizon—and the stability of vanishing point perspective—might be up for grabs.

Van Gogh, “Grapes, Lemons, Pears, and Apples” (1887)

It is also fair to say that the Chicago show couples its vision of Van Gogh triumphantly becoming Van Gogh with a clear and haunting vision of Van Gogh losing himself. Gauguin leaves The Yellow House and before too long, Van Gogh finds himself in other houses, less hospitable to his artistic dreams, as he undergoes a series of enforced committals and self-committals to various mental institutions. Four of the final paintings in the show are of the facades of these buildings or feature a haunting look down “A Corridor in the Asylum” (1889) with a distant figure furtively disappearing into one of its many doorways. Vanishing point perspective has rarely been used to more haunting effect. Perhaps it’s part of what he can hold onto. During some of these stretches, he was kept from art supplies of every sort.

Van Gogh, “A Corridor in the Asylum” (1889)

This calls to mind a separate issue about the Chicago show: how remarkably and intensely biographical it is. Perhaps in large part because of the extraordinary care with which he communicated to his brother Theo, we are able to follow Van Gogh’s coming and goings in almost forensic detail. There are times when the wall labels are as meticulous as the Warren Report. We know on exactly what days he painted certain canvases. There is a certain thrill to be looking over an artist’s shoulder—or perhaps more accurately, to see him as his neighbors experienced him, in his rooms and on the streets—but it raises questions about what sorts of information we truly need when looking at paintings, what sorts of information we crave, and at what price those cravings get satisfied. We have come to accept that our appetites for biographical information will enable us to fashion the key that will unlock many, many doors in our understanding of works of art. Would we equally accept it as an explanation for what we ourselves do, think, and make? There are certainly other contexts that could have been brought to bear on the work. There is something a little sly, a little voyeuristic, a little creepy about the biographical emphasis. There is a limit to how much we should hold the Art Institute responsible for the work of Leo Burnett, its publicists. But on every bus in Chicago and in many store windows, there were posters for the show featuring a view of the bedroom through a keyhole. As a piece in Advertising Age noted: “Early on, the agency met with curator Gloria Groom to learn about her vision and inspiration. The team decided on a strategy of ‘Let Yourself In,’ a line that has been used on materials such as posters with keyholes revealing a close-up of Van Gogh or the room. ‘It’s a voyeuristic experience of Van Gogh’s life….’”

The exhibit traces Van Gogh’s footsteps as he comes to focus more and more on The Yellow House and his hope that he could live there productively and in the company of friends. We get a picture of a man who was both amiable and difficult, who could be excellent company and yet also very needy, demanding, quite possibly unclean, and, as a critic standing near me observed, generally impossible. David Getsy’s essay in the exhibition catalogue writes of Van Gogh’s “suffocating enthusiasm.” It’s possible to imagine the relief that Gauguin, as a former financier and privileged bohemian, might have felt when he put some miles between himself and Van Gogh. The show also serves to remind us that we are perfectly likely to come to no better than an equivocal understanding of something despite having a great deal of data about it. When we look through the metaphorical keyhole of the exhibition, what do we really see as the relationship between Van Gogh and Gauguin?

Van Gogh, “Gauguin’s Chair” (1888)

The curator’s take on that relationship is highlighted in the discussion of the contrasts between “Gauguin’s Chair” (1888) and “Van Gogh’s Chair” (1888). Gauguin’s chair is an elaborate thing, all in all, with knobbed arms and a curved back, and a colored seat. There are a couple of books on it and a lighted candle—the life of the mind and the light of inspiration? On the wall, a gas flame is lit. By contrast, Van Gogh’s chair is a simple matter of unfinished pine with what looks like a plain, woven straw seat with a pipe and a paper full of tobacco on it. Perhaps he needs a light? On the floor is a carton of onions. Some of this is easy: Gauguin’s chair is the master’s and Van Gogh’s is the pupil’s. But for all their apparent certainty, biographical readings can still lead us into more equivocal territory. The relationship is largely one of admiration and discipleship, but perhaps there is a passive-aggressive undertone to the contrast between the works. Gauguin’s chair seems to be in a darker room, in need of some artificial light, while Van Gogh’s seems to be in the bright corner of a well-illuminated room. Gauguin’s world is filled with intangibles—the pleasures of reading, the light of inspiration—while Van Gogh’s is marked by an appetite for tangible pleasures, homely but nourishing. Van Gogh was oddly both submissive and competitive.

This helps bring us to one of the greatest points of contention between Van Gogh and Gauguin, and brings us as well, at long last, to the bedrooms, for which the rest of the exhibit is a run-up. Van Gogh painted from life; Gauguin advocated painting from memory and the imagination. By the time he reached Tahiti, Gauguin went immediately to the mythic. (What might Van Gogh have found to paint in Polynesia?) Van Gogh might have argued that he limited himself to the actual, but he was keenly aware of the spiritual and the mysterious, and loved the opportunity to paint what was before him in such a way as to suggest the unseen. We experience this with his pairs of empty shoes, of course, or with his paintings of piles of novels which imply voracious but absent readers, or, in “The Bedroom” series, the empty chairs, the well-made bed, and all the things neatly hung: the paintings, the towel, the blank mirror. Each of the turn-of-the-century’s great artists played with the way that space was represented, generally flattening shapes and form. Van Gogh’s own relationship to space was especially complicated. In 1882, he excitedly described to his brother Theo how he had just caused a perspective frame to be crafted with the help of a blacksmith to facilitate his quick capturing—speed of execution was always important to Van Gogh—of the illusion of space. With “The Bedroom,” however, space is more complicated and while the picture has a tiled floor to help keep track of spatial recession, the floor seems to be taking a precipitous dip at the feet of the viewer. There is not a breath of moving air in the room, but at the same time, nothing is quite stable.

Van Gogh, “The Bedroom,” version 2 (1889)

It is hard not to see some element of self-portraiture in “The Bedroom.” The catalogue notes that Petra Chu called it “Van Gogh’s most complex objectified self-image.” But the picture it offers of the artist is indirect. He had developed an interest—perhaps eventually an obsession—in arranging an overall decorative scheme for The Yellow House. Here this is not a pejorative term about a weakness, but a term denoting powerful restraint, painterly discipline, and strength of mind. You can’t make me turn this into a narrative. Perhaps this helps link his work to that of Bonnard and Vuillard whose interests in abstraction were sometimes manifested by their forgoing narrative in favor of an aesthetic whose source of power was the diffusion of focus that characterized the decorative. Van Gogh undertook a series of paintings of the park across the street from the house with the idea of having a decorative cycle of works he could put up on the walls to be called “The Poet’s Garden.” Still-lifes of sunflowers figured in as well, and, of course, there was “The Bedroom.” The walls of every room, public or private, had been planned out.

So when one asks what “The Bedroom” represents, some part of the answer must be that it was a part of an intellectual and artistic courtship of Gauguin with whom The Yellow House was to be shared. Everywhere Gauguin was to look, he would see homages to himself, indications of what sort of role he was to play and where and how he might play it, and maybe even some challenges to his own principles about life and art.

Above all, the purpose of the Chicago show is to bring together the three versions of “The Bedroom” to see what light they might shed on each other. To some extent because of the show, we now know with strong certainty that one version was painted in October 1888, a few days after Van Gogh moved into The Yellow House and a week before Gauguin joined him. The second version was painted about eleven months later, in part because of water damage to the first. A few weeks later, he painted the final version, which he sent as a gift to his mother. Van Gogh would have considered each work to be a different sort of work of art. He would have called the first a “croquis,” or sketch, though that was his term for a completed painting. The second was a “repetitition,” a thing that Van Gogh—and most 19th century painters—did a lot of. The third was a “reduction,” though in terms of actual size, it is only about a third smaller. Many of the most interesting differences can be traced to the strikingly different occasions and purposes of their creation. The first version was done in anticipation of Gauguin’s arrival; the second was done some eight months after Gauguin had decamped (he left the day after that business with the ear), during which interval Van Gogh had been hospitalized on four separate occasions; the third and final version might have been part of a desire to leave a record behind of the work he valued most. Ten months later he would be dead. He painted the first from life. Fearing that it had been damaged, the second and third were done by copying the first, and were basically paintings of paintings, guided by his memories and feelings about the first which led him to a series of revisions that the exhibit suggestively and meticulously calls our attention to. Gauguin and Van Gogh had argued about whether art should be done from life, in the moment, or from recollections and visions. With “The Bedroom,” they were both right.

Van Gogh, “The Bedroom,” version 1 (1888)

Decades ago, a show like this would have been an exercise in hard-nosed connoisseurship. In 2016, the exhibition is an example of hard-edged science working in tandem with the arts and humanities. By examining each part of each painting, the exhibition can tell us the order in which the versions were done. It can see the differences in how Van Gogh outlines each version of the composition before filling the outlines in. There is an alcove in which museum-goers can sit and watch on a triple screen as various details, some extraordinarily minute, are zoomed in on much larger than life. There is a CSI quality to some of the scientific work. Tiny traces of charcoal were found on one version or other, telling us about the underdrawing, or fragments of newsprint were found from where a still sticky canvas was wrapped with the nearest material Van Gogh had handy. There is a second alcove dedicated to the research that has been done on Van Gogh’s faded colors. He painted with some of art world’s most fugitive pigments, including geranium lake and cochineal lake. But in the alcove, you can sit and watch the works being digitally returned to their original colors, giving us all the chance to “see” the paintings as they would have looked the moment Van Gogh put his brush down for the day. He is restored to us as a color symbolist whose true colors we could otherwise no longer appreciate. The principles of science and color are working hand in hand with the principles of composition and mood. Seurat would have nodded.

Another thing you’ll see if you go to Chicago for the show is the back of many, many, many people’s heads. Though there is timed admission to the galleries, negotiating the crowds in some of the museum’s narrower spaces takes patience and strategy, as people take forever to read the opening text panels on the wall, unaccountably zoom past amazing canvases, and slow down in unison in front of works featured in the audio guide. Like certain highways or subway systems, it makes you wish there could be an express lane for those who want to be on their way with reasonable efficiency and a local lane for those who don’t mind making every stop. There are so many reasons nowadays to revere the popularity of a remarkable show, but also so many reasons not to. Too cranky? Well, then there are the selfies. It is interesting and important to think about Van Gogh’s appropriations of Hiroshige, Daumier, Millet, Dore. It would take the patience of a bored museum guard to ponder the significance of all the visitors’ cell phone appropriations of Van Gogh. Crowds of people were photobombing “The Bedroom”; it was hard not to think of Van Gogh wishing that Gauguin would have photobombed it, just once. This must be how the animals in the zoo feel.

Look: I am not proud of how ambivalent I feel about the democratization of the fine arts. I felt irrelevant, sedate, severe, and Apollonian to so many other people’s gleeful Dionysian energies. It’s okay, it’s not you; it’s me. Perhaps the audience is taking a cue from the publicists who helped create and stoke the voyeuristic expectations. What do you expect to see and how should you be expected to behave when you screw your eye to the keyhole? Perhaps people are drawn these days to all the places where there are crowds and then feel the human need to stand out from them; the combination of crowds and selfies is a non-paradox. And I understand that the crowd’s simultaneous presence and relative indifference to the cause of their gathering is a judgment on our culture that cannot be appealed. It may be that some people are trying to work out their edgy self-definition as heirs to modernity. But to many museum-goers, modernism is no more intrinsically close to their concerns than Hellenistic sculpture or medieval illumination. Still, every customer through the door of every exhibition at every museum represents a precious chance to teach people how to experience art more intensely and to make more out of the whole loud, chaotic, exhausting process. Clearly there has been nothing like a consensus reached yet on how to do that.

–Jonathan Kamholtz

Sours: http://aeqai.com/main/2016/04/the-bedroom-and-the-keyhole-van-goghs-bedrooms-at-the-art-institute-of-chicago/
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The city’s Percent for Art program makes art accessible for all.

You’ve seen the iconic keyhole sculpture in front of City Hall in Columbia. It’s there in the background on newscasts, photographed for advertisements, lit up to celebrate different occasions, captured as the backdrop for selfies, and used as a symbol for the city. What you may not realize is that the keyhole sculpture is part of the Percent for Art program, run by the City of Columbia, designed to bring public art to construction projects. 

The keyhole, a sculpture by artist Howard Meehan officially known as “Keys to the City,” is the largest Percent for Art project undertaken by the city to date. Completed in 2010, the sculpture commemorates Columbia’s history, with photographs of local landmarks and historical figures, like Mary Paxton Keeley and “Blind” Boone.

“It’s a much-loved, often-photographed symbol of Columbia,” says Marie Hunter, who served as the manager of the city’s Office of Cultural Affairs when the project was commissioned. “I’m constantly texting Howard pictures of the sculpture and how people are using it. He intended it to become exactly what it is. If someone says, ‘Meet me at the keyhole,’ you know where and what it means.”

“Keys to the City” is a monument that brought public art directly to the community, a key success of the Percent for Art program, which aims to make art accessible and available to all.

A History of Leading in the Arts

In May 1997, the Columbia City Council approved legislation to create the Percent for Art program. The program allows for 1% of the cost of any new city construction or renovation projects to be used for site-specific public art. Any above-ground capital improvement project with a budget of $1 million or more is eligible to have public art as a component of the completed site. The program is managed and administered through the Columbia Office of Cultural Affairs, assisted by a standing committee on public art appointed by the city council.

The program came after a push by the city’s leadership, which had a strong interest in arts and a recognition of its economic impact. At that time, City Manager Ray Beck and Mayor Darwin Hindman, along with council members, attended a session on public art at a national conference in Phoenix. Mayor Hindman was particularly interested and enthusiastic, Marie recalls. 

“Columbia is progressive in its arts programming and support within municipal government for two main reasons: the Percent for Art program and the Office of Cultural Affairs,” says Marie. “At the time that Percent for Art was established in Columbia, there was only one other community that had a program, in Kansas City.”

For a community Columbia’s size, it’s particularly impressive to have such a vibrant arts program with a public art component. The City Council also opened the Percent for Art program to both local and national artists with the recognition that artists far and wide should be able to participate and be selected for their work in other communities.

The first two public art projects commissioned by Percent for Art were both completed in 1999. The parking garage at Eighth and Cherry Streets showcases a neon, ceramic tile mural of wheels called “Rolling Ahead” by Ron Fondaw. At the Oakland Family Aquatic Center, families coming to swim may not even realize they’re looking at public art by Mark La Mair, a Springfield artist who created the playful sculptures, called “Leap In To,” gracing the outside of the swim center.

Susan Taylor Glasgow was the first local artist and the first woman to receive a Percent for Art commission. Her sculpture “Network” now lives at Fire Station No. 8 at Nifong Boulevard and Bearfield Road. “Network” is a series of colored and sandblasted glass blocks, some including traditional symbols of firefighting, all visible from the exterior. “It was an honor to be the first local artist and to share with the community,” Susan says. “My career has changed since then, but back then, I was an emerging artist, and it was a pivotal point.”

Susan’s project also included an educational component after Marie set up an artist residency at New Haven Elementary School. Susan spent a week working with students, who then toured the fire station. “Those children are all grown up now, and every once in a while, I come across one who still remembers how fun the project was,” Susan recalls.

Public art makes such an impact on our community and our environment, Susan says. It’s certainly one of the reasons why Columbia was honored as Missouri’s first Creative Community by the Missouri Arts Council in 2007, in recognition that Columbia’s arts industry has a proven economic impact. “That was a big one,” Marie says. “The nomination hinged on economic impact and arts-based tourism, and Percent for Art was definitely a component because it’s unique about Columbia.”

Art Available to All

Public art from the Percent for Art program is now all across the city and allows us to experience and enjoy art in everyday life. Going to swim or exercise at the Activity and Recreation Center? As you enter the main lobby, it’s hard to miss the scale of the large sculpture suspended in the atrium. “Taking the Plunge” is a 12-foot-tall, 15-foot-wide figure created by Norman Courtney as part of Percent for Art in 2002. Head downtown to Wabash Station to check out two pieces of Percent for Art works, from David Spear’s four-painting series featuring local Columbians in the interior to Don Asbee’s forged steel train on the exterior.

“The city has made such a commitment to beautification and making these opportunities for culture accessible,” says Elise Buchheit, program specialist for the Office of Cultural Affairs. “We see a huge value in it. As we develop different areas of town, having artistic representations there helps us retain the culture that’s so unique to Columbia.”

More recently, the city’s new field house at Perry Philips Park carries the latest Percent for Art project, with three different sculptures by David Spear. The largest of the three pieces, “Boundaries,” was created to work in harmony with the mission of the field house and to inspire visiting athletes, David says. The large-scale sculptures are a mix of materials, LED lighting, and digital transparencies. “This was an opportunity to get outside of painting and use these newer materials,” David says. 

Next up will be two different Percent for Art projects at the new Columbia Regional Airport terminal, where travelers will pass by the artwork daily. The airport project will feature local artist Chris Morrey and a nonlocal artist, David Griggs, from Colorado. The artists are working on proposals now, with public comments expected to start by the beginning of next year. 

In addition to the Percent for Art program, the cultural affairs office works on traffic box art, which is hard to miss as you drive around downtown Columbia. The traffic box art program began in 2007 as a way to deter graffiti and beautify street corners. Currently, 16 traffic boxes around town feature work by local artists. The latest traffic box will be at Ash and Eighth streets by the Boone County Government Building, with artist Roy Fox depicting workers building the city’s armory as part of the Works Progress Administration.

This year, during a pandemic, we can’t attend large, live performances or experience art in the same ways. That’s why the Office of Cultural Affairs plans to focus heavily on helping people give to Columbia’s arts organizations, Elise says. She encourages community members to find an arts organization they connect with and to support them. For art enthusiasts, Elise reminds us that “participating in art lowers stress levels, increases civic engagement, and fosters civic pride in the community.” 

It’s easy to experience Columbia’s public art, much of which is outside and can be viewed from a car or a walking tour. You can also download the city’s app or online guide and take a public art tour of all that the city’s Percent for Art program offers. In a time when we need art in the everyday experience, the opportunity is there to appreciate the unique art around our community and find the hidden gems among our public spaces. You might even start by meeting at the keyhole. 

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Katie Perry HarrisSours: https://comomag.com/2020/11/30/meet-me-at-the-keyhole/
Keyhole artwork composition

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Sours: https://www.wikihow.com/Hang-a-Picture-with-a-Horizontal-Keyhole-Slot

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