Visual Arts New Year's resolutions

We who run Foster/White Gallery hereby resolve to train our android gallery attendants to smile. Though they're obviously engineered to be superior beings—taller, thinner, perfect hair, etc.—they mustn't forget that art isn't as serious as all that, even Chihuly. Heck, especially Chihuly!

We, the Lusty Lady Lobby Gallery, resolve to get our often-overlooked strip-club gallery on the first Thursday Art Walk circuit. Flaunt it if you got it, baby.

We, the Seattle Art Museum, resolve to cast the limelight on Lisa Corrin, our new big-shot curator who's been in town since September but hasn't made a peep. We realize that Seattle's ready to see this old-school feminist and international contemporary-art-scene dynamo in action.

We, the James Harris Gallery, resolve to think about the terrible void left by the demise of the Eyre/Moore Gallery—and fill it.

We at the Li'l Red Shack resolve to engineer a foil-proof mechanism so that, out of the thousands of Mariners fans passing our doors twice daily during baseball season, we will successfully entice at least one blinder-wearing, KettleCorn-scarfing, foam M head into the gallery.

We at Winston W䣨ter Fine Art resolve to mount challenging conceptual shows as always, but this year, we'll endeavor to illustrate the complex points and intricate themes with more than three art works a pop.

We at Howard House resolve to mark the floors with traffic arrows to ensure optimal human directional flow in tiny gallery space during packed opening events.

We, the gallery owners of Kirkland, recognize that just because Seattle Weekly's critic called the colorful fare in our establishments 'pastel yuppie muck' in 2001, there's no need to burn any bridges. We will turn a new leaf in '02 and call off our passive-aggressive boycott of this humble arts writer.

We, the Bellevue Art Museum, resolve to crawl back into the mall until a solid game plan is formulated.

We, the Pike Place Market Foundation, hereby resolve: No more sacrificial farm animals, no matter how gussied up.

Anna Fahey

info@seattleweekly.com

 
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