Art Review

“The Broken Winter” is the title of Wichita artist Emily Brookover’s 4th solo show. I have long been a fan of Ms. Brookover’s work. I have never seen any artist approach graphite on paper with such crisp precision. 

I recently read an article by world renowned painter David Salle in which he explained one of the things that is most valuable to him. It is a painting by Wichitan William Dickerson.  Salle grew up in Wichita and painters Bill Dickerson and his wife Betty were both Mr. Salle’s art teachers at the Wichita Art Association. Bill had turned down a chance to teach at the Art Institute of Chicago in order to return to Wichita and begin teaching in 1931.

Like everyone, I was caught off guard and stunned by the mass death and injury that occurred recently in Las Vegas. This shocking event, along with the perils our American brothers and sisters are facing in Puerto Rico made it seem that any commentary I might make about art feel forced and weak.

But I will say that artists and our art mark time. The horrors that occur in life, through time, inevitably show themselves in two- and three-dimensional art forms.

Last Saturday it was 90+ degrees. It was the day the 2nd round of murals to be painted in the Douglas Design District lifted off and began. My wife Taeko and I went out to explore the different sites.

I've always felt that a sculptor suffers most for his or her art. To coax emotion and greatness from stone, steel, bronze, or wood is torturous.

While the story of Lindsborg Artist Mike Hartung is a delicious one, it is also achingly sad.

My wife Taeko and I recently took our 2-year-old granddaughter, Hazel, to the Wichita Art Museum's outdoor sculpture garden. The late afternoon was gorgeous and Hazel was captivated by the great sculptural works and the beautiful plant life.

This week, consider packing yourself a sack lunch and heading down to City Arts. In the 2nd floor gallery you will find the new exhibition Bibs & Forks Food Invitational.

I'm getting older. I'm 58. I started seriously selling my art when I was 26. I get to see some of that 32-year-old work from time to time and am struck by the directions I took.

In 1975 I stepped in to my first art class at Wichita East High. 

Mrs. Annie Lowrey, my art teacher, asked us to draw a simple still life. She asked me to stay after class that first day. She asked where I had taken art lessons. She asked me who my favorite artists were. And she asked me if I was high