This series is devoted to an ongoing dialogue wrestling with the questions of why folks make art and its significance to the individual and our culture. We welcome feedback, discussion, and outside contributions – email comments to ws@thedetroiter.com

Part One: The Big Yellow Taxi Theory or Mr. Cope Goes to Turkmenistan
Part Two: New Eyes or How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky?
Part Three: Paint the Town Orange
Part Four: Dances with Dirt

(In which we offer commentary concerning the Contemporary Art Institute of Detroit’s exhibition "Shelter", noting here the author’s involvement as Board Chairperson of said organization. While this connection prevents him from offering a proper review, he also notes that it brings him great pleasure to be connection with an organization responsible for putting forth such exhibitions.)

The exhibition was marked by a strong, well received opening, with good conversations throughout the evening. I left late, pleased by both the turnout and its reception, yet wanting more – for issues of shelter lay outside the boundaries of this building, this particular shelter. A group of us headed to the Majestic Café for sustenance, and were, as is always the case there, confronted by people living on the streets asking for money for food, or for food directly. I recognized many of them from previous encounters including a wheelchair bound woman I’d bought pizza for a while back. It’s one thing to think about issues of shelter in the abstract, but here, on the street, we’re confronted with it directly, viscerally, uncomfortably. In my pocket are keys to my home and enough money to buy something to eat made by someone else, and served to me by yet another team of people. I can come in from the wet, cold night and sit down in comfort to eat – which I do.

On this night, this all too common experience prompts a connection to a conversation I’d had earlier that day with my aunt who lives in San Francisco. Now in her early 60s, she has, to say the least, had an amazing range of life experiences – she’s written a bestselling cookbook, been a food critic, ran her own dining club, traveled the world, and much more. While none of these things have ever translated into great wealth, they have resulted in a very full and rich life. And she’s always found creative ways to get by, even living in a city which has seen the cost of living explode to the most expensive in the country. But recently, due to changes in housing laws, she may find herself forced out of the cozy home she’s been renting for over a decade, and it’s doubtful she’ll be able to find another place that she can afford in this city she’s called home for most of her adult life.

People like my aunt are educated, have regular jobs, contribute greatly to their communities, yet their options for shelter within their means are dwindling. It’s a scary situation. And many face just such a thing without the solid support group of friends and family that my aunt has. The situation definitely brings the issue of homelessness home.

It makes one think twice about these people asking for money on the street, and just how they ended up where they are, and what it might take for any of us to end up in such a situation.

The evening following the exhibition opening saw several of the artists in the show and the general public gather back at CAID for a dialogue on the issues of shelter raised by their artworks. Timlin led the conversation, speaking to the sense of communal responsibility, "Who we allow to be poor, defines who we are," which he also noted mirrored Native American philosophy where if one member of the community didn’t have shelter, it brought shame upon the entire culture. A powerful idea and something to give us pause as we turn our heads away from that person on the street.

Artist Kathy Rashid used the phrase, "Homeless in your hometown," to describe folks who'd been living in the Park Shelton before it went condo, more or less thrown out to make room for development opportunities. Very much the situation my aunt and others face in San Francisco. It's a difficult issue to be sure. Certainly a city needs folks of higher incomes to live there, to support businesses and build a tax base, but what of those displaced by gentrification? Developers and realtors need to earn income too, but where do we draw that line?

In the booklet accompany Miller and Gardner's ambitious, yet realizable house project they write, "Detroit needs to be recognized, acknowledged, and engaged if it is to survive. It's in our own best interest." Admittedly, it's sometimes hard to see how taking care of others is in our best interest. Consider though, the creation of a growing body of poor and homeless people should not only trouble us strictly out of compassion and even a desire to not be confronted with it when heading out for a night on the town, but it also creates a body of people in a state of desperation that at some point must lead to something beyond begging. It IS in our best interest to have people in stable, healthy homes, to help preserve our own situations. (And we could apply such thinking on a global scale – as the creation of an angry populace with no means to make its voice heard becomes an environment for those extreme elements of the population to resort to acts of violence.)

Is shelter a right for everyone? No matter how modest, should we not all have a place to hang our hat and call home? If so, what then can art do? While it’s true, as Timlin pointed out, "we could live without sculpture," art still is of great value to us as a culture. As University of Detroit professor of architecture (and CAID board member) Amy Deines put it, one role of art today is to convey what it is like to live in someone else's shoes.

We may not be able to walk that mile in another person's shoes, but the artist can offer a sense, a glimmer of understanding what that journey is like. Art can engender empathy. To paraphrase Timlin's curatorial statement, with empathy comes understanding and from understanding arises the possibility of solutions.

The exhibition is strong as a collection of art works and ideas. But its true strength, and perhaps the greatest potential inherent in all art, is the creation of a dialogue that reaches far beyond the gallery walls and set people walking down different paths from that experience.

In the case of shelter, this is essential not just for those in need, but for all of us. – Nick Sousanis
ws@thedetroiter.com