450 Harrison Ave., Boston, MA



Call for Artwork: BODY POLITIC
Deadline: Thurs, June 15
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April 5 - 30, 2017

Opening Reception
Friday, April 7
6-8:30 pm

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Vivian Pratt: "Encounters"


I am fascinated with organic materials, and my studio overflows with my collections of nature’s debris. I often use branches, roots, flowers and other natural materials for inspiration.

Recently I began to make sculptural reliefs by molding paper over wire forms. I begin intuitively, with no plan but as the forms develop, they come alive and I see them as creatures.

They reside on a wall and, as I add plant materials, they interact with each other. I move and modify them until I feel a flow – chance encounters of imaginary beings.













Dietlind Vander Schaaf:


"10 MINUTES OF QUIET" addresses the increasing need for quiet and self-reflection in the midst of our increasingly busy and technologically distracted lives. 

Divided into ten distinct sections, this body of work explores the inner landscape in an attempt to render temporary, fleeting moments of beauty, balance, and stillness visible.  It references teachings from Zen Buddhism, Christian mysticism, the poetic traditions, and contemplative practices including yoga and meditation. 

Click on this link to see a short video about the intersection between Dietlind's art and contemplative practice: 

Support for this exhibition was made possible in part by a grant from the Maine Arts Commission. 









Gary Duehr: "Man In Booth"

This autobiographical exhibition is a tribute to my father, who ran a parking lot for most of his life. The images are of a sculptural glass model, based on his parking lot booth, which I photographed in various times of day and situations, including parking lots. The ten 16x20 color photographs are accompanied by the passage of text below. (A hardcover book with the photos and text is also available.)

My father was a very private person, although for most of his life he ran a public parking lot: 56 spaces on the corner of Locust and Grove, next to the County Jail and half a block from the Illinois Hotel. All day, six days a week, he sat on a stool inside a booth and through a side window punched tickets in and out. In winter, a space heater hummed with stale warmth. He was proud of the fact he was his own boss, and no one could tell him what to do or not do.

At the lot, he'd greet the salesmen and deputies and store managers by name with a big wave Hello. He knew everyone's car and saved their spots for them. They knew him from his years on City Hall committees and his letters to the editor against privatizing the city's electricity. Halfway through college, he had worked a year at the local paper, writing obituaries and selling ads.

My father was a very private person. Late at night, in his den, he'd scan the airwaves with a ham radio, marking cities he'd contacted with red pins on a map: Omaha, Shreveport, and when the cloud cover bounced the signals just right, Oslo or Stuttgart or even Tokyo. From the metal box with a lit-up dial came the crackle of faraway voices.

Click here to see more images.



















































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