Art and Science

All the same, winter is the best time for stars in Boston. Betelgeuse, Rigel, Capella and box of the brightest hang from the Great Hexagon and light up the cold night. It’s ironic that we’re Gemma, the jewel in a summer constellation, high in the sky off the Herdsman's shoulder in the dimmer half of the year.

This week the winter sky shone like ice on tarmac over Fan Pier, where we looked at Shepard Fairey’s absurd work in our new art institute. Best known for skateboards, OBEY GIANT street campaigns and that Barack Obama t-shirt, his first showing in a major museum raises the question: does mainstream acceptance tarnish an avant-garde glow? But the best part of the evening was the tiny couple arguing their way through the exhibit. Rather, she was arguing, right out loud. He was unmoved; we were shocked. And Catherine said, maybe it’s performance art. Maybe part of a plan to keep the artist's edge sharp. Who can tell where art begins or ends?

Art is perception.

One of the joys of my adulthood was discovering a pattern to the night sky. Steady constellations, phases of the moon and planets in constant progression. Light and shadow and the colors of the stars thrill me, as they have moved generation after generation. Art, I suppose.