The Integrated Curriculum, 6th Floor Lobby and Great Hall

What happens when the School of Art cherry picks artists for an exhibition meant to represent the loftiest ambitions of the institution? A couple of things, it turns out. The first thing that happens is that art suddenly has artists, titles and intentions—with a neat, organized exhibition binder to prove it. Maybe this seems childish (or as I hear around from time to time, maybe it seems "high school") but it's also incredibly useful. All ye artists with weekly shows and no labels, maybe you could compromise and make some kind of index of the work available—binder or not.

Another thing that happens when the institution organizes the show is that no one goes to it. That's not entirely true, I suppose. As I write this, Pam Lins' 3D class is in the corner talking about Jenna Dublin's Untitled piece. Or, they're standing next to it, which is kind of like talking about it. The unsurprising lesson is that shows organized by the institution (excluding, as Sam reminds me, the great collaborative End of Year Show) don't have the same sort of enthusiasm from the students in it, or from the friends/family of those students.

I find it hard to muster enthusiasm myself when the work is tethered to the tired, self-congratulatory philosophies and clichés of the School of Art. Are these works truly meant to "initiate critical responses and alternative models in relation to the prevailing forms of institutions?" Maybe: someone give me an argument. But for me, that inflated sense of purpose does not resonate with the work in this show. The work does not represent an education "in the broadest sense," it's a microcosm of a very particular kind of education. All that's fine. Let the show be what it is, a (fairly arbitrary) sampler with some occasional really good samples.

Andrew Francis' Studio Cart—more democratically authored by "Community"—stands as an island in the lobby, reminding the viewer of the mostly unrealized potential of student involvement and voice in the direction this school takes. This isn't a finished piece, it's a piece in progress, and one that communicates directly with the institution it was born in and those who work in it.

Luke Janson drags a little bit of the fourth floor energy (and pomp) up to the otherwise quiet sixth floor. His paintings are deceptively well made and engaging, while his video, Y2K5 (the video game-video) is surprisingly boring. Still the atmosphere doesn't suffer from a little extra noise and life.

Henry Chapman