The nation's oldest Death Row inmate probably won't ever be executed. But he sure loves to write letters.
South Florida's lawless exotic rental car industry keeps rolling.
In Texas, restitution for victims is nothing but a state-sanctioned sham.
If you thought Seattle couldn't fetishize coffee any more, you haven't been to a "cupping" yet.
Conclusion of the System of Things Nadine Robinson's gallery-sized installation is big and loud, like a Hollywood movie, and the fog machine that's turned on when visitors enter the gallery only reinforces the cinematic spirit of the piece. With a bold, climactic soundtrack pouring from round speakers installed along a wall to reference the positions of figures in Michaelangelo's "Last Judgment," however, the piece happens to be quite understated in spite of all the melodrama (not to mention the apocalyptic title). When viewers look at what can only be called a painting of sound, they see a minimal, functional, symmetrical tableau. That it feels like a movie is mere trickery. After all, it's missing cinema's most obvious components: moving images on a screen. There are no characters, and there is no plot. All that remains are special effects signifying that stakes are rising, a journey is ending and emotions are accelerating toward a spectacular conclusion. Viewers are left to envision their own high stakes, epic voyages and scantily clad performers that is, of course, until they read the gallery's brochure explaining the artist's intended meaning. We recommend picking up the brochure on the way out rather than on the way in. The artist's personal associations, though interesting and valid, complicate a piece that resists explanation, working best (in fact, brilliantly) on a purely sensory level. Through Dec. 17 at Grand Arts, 1819 Grand, 816-421-6887. (G.K.)
Generations: Ceramic Sculpture and Photography The Graffiti Room hides at the intersection of 39th Street and Broadway, sharing a block with a Supercuts and a video-game repair shop. The gallery's name is literal, spray-painted onto aged, rusted metal. Inside is a senior-thesis exhibition by the Kansas City Art Institute's Teri Frame, who obviously delights in using her familial lineage for artistic purposes. Frame's show consists of nine clay pieces, all slip casts of a male body; mirrors positioned behind each piece reveal decals inside made from black-and-white family photos. In "Crush," a left forearm and a right hand dangle off a small wooden pedestal, resting like sleeping body parts, and the reflected image shows two people (Frame's great-grandparents?) caught in a moment of spontaneous celebration. The past imposes itself on the present in these works, implying that one's family, dead or living, is never far away. By appointment through Dec. 23 at the Graffiti Room, 3905 Broadway, 816-217-8819. (R.T.B.)
Married to Adventure Before loaded terms such as "multiculturalism" came along to institutionalize a basic desire to understand other people, Osa Johnson and her husband, Martin, just got in a plane and lived the idea, completely unself-consciously. The two Kansans traveled to parts of the world that scared the bejesus out of most Americans in the early part of the 20th century. Their still and moving footage of indigenous civilizations was later used in popular silent films and in at least one instance, they returned to those locales to screen a film for the people who had appeared in it. The exhibit at the Kansas City Museum shows photographs and film reels as well as special editions of Osa Johnson's best-selling autobiography, I Married Adventure, printed with zebra-striped covers. Especially awe-inspiring is the photo, shot from a plane, of stampeding giraffes. Osa Johnson = total badass. Through Jan. 8 at the Kansas City Museum, 3218 Gladstone Blvd., 816-460-2020. (G.K.)
Pastoral Barbarism In his paintings, Lawrence artist Aaron Marable blurs historical figures with fantasy to produce a confused, intriguing and complex narrative. Frequently, archetypes mingle with elements of pop culture to create a vibrant stew of color and violence. Many of the works feature bloodshed and brutality in a variety of contexts, as if such actions were inescapable. Typical is "...With God on Their Side," in which a soldier loads his musket as he stands in the mouth of a much larger soldier who is reclining, a week's worth of whiskers on his cheeks. On top of this enormous soldier stands a tiny George Washington reading from scrolled parchment. A woman tends to a nearby third soldier, who is wounded and dying. At least four or five realities occur at one time; one image fights for attention with the other, and characters overlap in a fever dream of surreal, mostly Americana-inspired images. Marable applies paint in thick brush strokes fueled by a generous supply of passion the act of violence influencing the process of painting itself. Through Jan. 21 at the Leedy-Voulkos Art Center, 2012 Baltimore, 816-474-1919. (R.T.B.)