The 48th Nor'Easter Juried Exhibition at the New Britain Museum of American Art

Out of curiosity I went to see and review the show.  I was in town early for an open drawing session at the Art League of New Britain so... what the hell?

I don't always submit my work to this show.  Sometimes finances get in the way.  But this year I saw who the juror was going to be - Stephanie Haboush Plunkett, Deputy Director and Chief Curator of the  Norman Rockwell Museum - and decided right then and there that submitting my work was a fool's errand.  My work is light years away from Norman Rockwell and in choosing such a juror my gut instinct was that the result would be predictable.

My other concern in not submitting was whether or not this was yet another of the parade of identity politic shows I've observed in recent years in which female jurors favor (justly or unjustly) female work.

I know the Guerrilla Girls are holding their breath so here is the math.

Seventy pieces are being shown.  Nineteen are by men, Fifty-one are by fifty-three women.

And although there are plenty of differences in the work here are some dollar figures.

I averaged the prices of the work for both men and women strictly on the number of pieces that were for sale.  NFS were excluded as was a piece with a $1,000,000 price tag by a male artist because it absurdly skewed the more typical price ranges.

The total asking price for fifteen pieces by men came out to $91,650, an average of $6,110 per piece.
The asking price for forty-eight pieces by women came out to $185,896, an average of $3,872.83.
Make of it what you will.

Now that we know who has what in their pants, let me review the show.

My worst fears were realized  after walking the show carefully to ensure I wasn't just rushing  through.  What struck me most was the obvious volume of representational work. A handful of something other than representational work was scattered her and there and of that lot, mostly derivative pieces.

Curatorially, this stream content is typical of local gallery shows that are curated by landscape and portrait painters who have yet to understand or acquire an understanding of Modernism let alone Contemporary Art.   Shows such as these are to Art what Trump's administration is to America - dross served up as aesthetic caviar.

There is nothing to think about here.  The stuff on pedestals and on the walls is a simulacra of an imagined aesthetic in which the patron is expected to only use their eyes and their familiarity with nostalgic memories.  The work as Art is breathlessly empty.

However, what fails as Art succeeds as Fine Craft.  Everything here is meticulously crafted and well made.  Everything here is functional like all good craft.  This work is antiseptic enough to display anywhere.  And, thankfully, it is devoid of the identity politics that the show itself cannot shed.

If you like pleasing, stylized landscapes, portraits, linen, and fruit or colorful pseudo-abstractions, this show is for you.  The warmth of familiar subject matter divorced from any of the messy PostModern, Modern, and Contemporary influences will either totally relax you or put you into a coma.

And, as one of those cosmic coincidences, I need to leave you with one final anomaly. Of the twenty or so artists who attended the nude drawing session only one was a woman.  Go figure.