Signs of Life

If you had just dropped into Seattle out of nowhere this past weekend, you might have actually come away with the feeling that this is a city where things happen, where the art scene is, as has been endlessly touted, "burgeoning," "thriving," and "vibrant."

It's true! Believe me, no one is more surprised than me, exhausted as I am from four days of gallery openings, open houses, and open studios. From First Thursday, when Pioneer Square galleries were pretty much thronged for the good shows (Tim Bavington and Lynn Woods Turner at Greg Kucera, Mandy Greer at whatever it is that the King County gallery is called these days... but hardly anyone at Lisa Liedgren's show at James Harris--why?) and for some of the bad shows as well. Then, on Friday night, Curtis Taylor's Sea-Saw at the Jewel Box, plus another packed house at Roq la Rue for Yumiko Kayukawa and John John Jesse (and much of it actually sold, by God); then Soil on Saturday night for smart, streamlined work by Yuki Nakamura and Claude Zervas and many, many glasses of wine; then I Heart Rummage on Sunday morning, which, in its new location (the band room of the Crocodile), is sort of dark, smoky, and mysterious, like a Moroccan bazaar.

I also showed up at the Bemis Building to check out their two-day show Germinate. I'm glad I did--now I know about Jon Meyer's freight elevator built out of video, and doctored photographs in which rooms are layered modules of flattened space, still recognizable, just a bit off. And I finally saw some of Ursula Gullow's big crowd paintings (others are showing this month at Coffee Animals) and had the pleasure (kinda) of reacquainting myself with Scott Wilson's really quite frightening photographic inventory of bottled medical specimens. Also, Bob Park's glass-and-chair sculptures kind of got to me, like Joseph Beuys cleaned up for Northwest consumption.

Then, on to a little launch party for Thread for Art's amazing Robert Yoder book, titled abfall, which is the name of his show opening next weekend at Howard House. There, Linda Farris told me the true story of First Thursday--how it started here in Seattle in the mid-'70s, once a year in February to coincide with Mardi Gras, and how it now happens all over the country. There I also met a nice couple just moved here from New York, and unfamiliar with the art scene. "Well, you've found it," I told them, and I meant it.

emily@thestranger.com