Finding people working with authentically personal ideas is becoming rarer on a daily basis. But refining an appearance which jives with acceptable notions of art and its display finds a weird parallel in the manipulation of dry wall contrived for new shows or even slithering into a pair of pants that are a few sizes to small and making an appearance at all the right openings. It’s apparently a hassle to look good.

As sterile as the empty white wall space seems at Western Exhibitions, the accepted vision of the artist and what s/he should be engaged with – whether it’s cultural artifacts to-be like ‘chill-wave,’ Lady Gaga or eighties fashion – becomes a concerted effort to erect an insular culture in opposition to whatever passes for normalcy these days. Unfortunately, that all ends up in there being rules as sturdy and defining as what makes Midwestern housewives (the ones not related by blood) distasteful to gallery hoppers.

Feigning interest in that orange Abe Lincoln, videos about nothing that don’t star Jerry Seinfeld while dismissing anyone clearly in the gallery to look around in lieu of making a purchase should rightly be considered ridiculous. The book store clerk around the way, by contrast to anything encountered in the proper art space Western Exhibitions has set up, comes off like a ray of sappy sunshine. To a certain extent, the guy needs to present himself that way in order to hock wares. After all this is just a business, not unlike network television or any other hierarchical structure.

Surely a number of people think ahead about the advancement of their careers, but after these gallery folks are chased out of 119 N. Peoria due to steadily increased rents and resolve to find some other undiscovered setting, the same cycle is bound to be repeated. The displacers will become the displaced in a joke most likely missed by all involved.

Logan Square’s supposedly been on the upswing for the last few decades. And it’ll eventually wind up being the stage where these scenes are going to be played out anew. Pushing west, though, will sooner or later find everyone abutting the suburbs. When those unwanted housewives and weekend motorcycle enthusiasts begin cropping up, subsuming the culture soldered together in opposition to suburban stasis, there won’t be a next move except to retreat back the West Loop and start the whole thing over again. Bummer.