Tuesday, December 28, 2010
By Tom Wachunas
“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”
- Thomas Merton -
“It’s no secret that in America, by the time students enter college, too many of them have been successfully conditioned against creative thinking for themselves. After all, we now have digital apps for that.” - June Godwit –
“Teachers open the door, but you enter by yourself.” - Chinese proverb –
When I think about this pesky, clichéd business of making New Year’s resolutions, I’ve found some relevance in Albert Einstein’s attitude, “I never think of the future. It comes soon enough.” Not that there aren’t things in my life that don’t need fixed, changed, or altogether trashed. And while applying Einstein’s take on the matter might smack of rationalized procrastination, it’s nonetheless true that the holiday ritual of making an annual promise to resolve shortcomings in my life became, long ago, a toothless if not unnecessary one. In the spirit of living in the moment, it’s all I can do to stay on the straight and narrow just for today. That said, every morning that I successfully get out of bed is in fact a resolution to show up for the task at hand, fully intending to chip away – with God’s help - at the mountain of defects (mine, not yours) that can obscure a clear view of the 24 hours ahead. For as much as I see a light in the distance, I still too often walk in the dark shadows of my own ineptitudes.
Standing on the threshold of A.D. 2011, today’s task at hand is further preparation for the spring semester (Einstein’s attitude now somewhat abandoned) at Kent State University Stark campus, where I have been teaching Art Survey for about four years. It’s an interesting name for a college course, and not to be perceived or presented as Art History in the conventional sense. Really, it’s a fancy name for Art Appreciation. But calling it Art Survey suggests an appropriate gravitas beyond the smiley-faced niceties often associated with ‘appreciation,’ and that’s fine with me. This is, to be sure, a distinction of my own, and not stated anywhere in Kent course descriptions per se. Still, to best tell you what it is exactly that I teach, I’ve often called the course, in all seriousness, Passion 101.
Rest assured that there are no delusions afoot here, no misdirected conceptions of ‘passion.’ Passion for anything – in this case, for art – is not some set of facts one memorizes or masters, as in axioms, rules, or procedures. In that sense, it can’t be taught at all. But if you consider education in its truest definition and function – leading or drawing OUT as opposed to pouring or stuffing IN – then the development of passion (or at least the beginnings of it) can be reasonably seen as any teacher’s goal, however elusive it may be. Here then all kinds of metaphors come to mind in describing my classroom presence: a lamp bearer, a planter of seeds, a door opener, a fire starter. Ahh… the joys of kindling a flame. My intent is certainly not necessarily to inspire students to become art collectors, art historians, or even practicing artists, though a few have considered those paths. It is simply to inspire inspiration itself, and from there the possibility for connecting with passion, with enthrallment.
Another useful expedient is to view teaching Art Survey as the diligent tilling and fertilizing of hardened earth. Hardened earth, just barely sustaining the basics of life’s more ephemeral but necessary nutrients - that’s how I view the hearts and minds of too many freshmen. Passions waiting to be stirred. Through no fault of their own they’ve yet to really embrace what I know to be the astounding vitality and power of art. Beyond the securing of food and shelter, making art, in all its forms, is arguably the most ancient and efficacious of conscious human actions. It is far more than the luxurious pursuit of a peripheral intelligentsia, or the arcane musings of isolated or eccentric minds. It is a fact of our existence, a response to being alive, an ongoing narrative of who we are and what is important to us. And I dare say a dialogue with all of Creation.
To spark a willingness to participate in that dialogue, to navigate through its most invigorating truths as well as its most confounding secrets and mysteries, is my resolution (revolution?) for today, and for as many tomorrows as may be granted me. To aspire to anything less would be a fruitless walk in the dark.
Happy New Year.
Photo: “Philosopher and Pupils,” oil, 1626, by Willem van der Vliet
Thursday, December 23, 2010
All of a Peace
By Tom Wachunas
“The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp.” - Revelation 21:23 –
“ ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” - Jeremiah 29:11 –
I know of no other season than this one wherein my heart abides, with equal measure, in joy and sorrow. Joy for the greatest gift I’ve ever received - undeserved, unearned, and only by grace and faith. Jesus Christ himself. And sorrow for so much of this world that chooses not to receive what was and still is so freely bestowed upon it.
But this post is neither a judgment on recalcitrant hearts nor a doleful plea to disconnected ones. Rather, it is simply an offering for your consideration. It is accompanied by my hope that it not rest unread in cyberspace, but be a source of reflection and encouragement in the twilight of A.D. 2010, before the dawn of a new year, and well beyond. To you my loyal readers, and all the artists whose work inspires my words, I remain humbled by and ever grateful for your energy, interest, and support. To those who, by His grace, might casually come upon this site for the first time, welcome. To all of you, I beg your indulgence and ask only that you read, with opened minds, this praise of the greatest gift ever given.
It is a providential gift that guarantees for all of us abundant, everlasting life. It is a gift fully illustrated - catalogued, if you will – with user-friendly instructions throughout the Bible. Consider this partial inventory of Scriptural descriptors:
Almighty God, Alpha and Omega, A man of sorrows, Author of Life, Author of Salvation, Beginning and End, Bread of Life, Christ, Deliverer, Despised and rejected by men, Eternal Life, Everlasting Father, Great High Priest, Good Shepherd, Heir of All Things, Immanuel, I Am, King of Kings, Lamb of God, Life, Light of the World, Lion of Judah, Lord, Lord of Lords, Love, Mediator, Messiah, Morning Star, Our Peace, Prince of Peace, Resurrection and Life, Rock, Saviour, Son of God, Son of Man, the Truth, the Way, the Word, Wonderful Counselor…
And YOURS for the asking, for the believing. OURS, then. Spread the wealth.
So, thank you for your attention to this matter. May your Christmas be filled with His light, and all your seasons blessed.
Photo: My 2010 Christmas image, oil, 8 ½” x 11” – an annual tradition in lieu of Christmas cards
Monday, December 20, 2010
Changing Faces, Facing Changes
By Tom Wachunas
“When you start with a portrait and search for a pure form, a clear volume, through successive eliminations, you arrive inevitably at the egg. Likewise, starting with the egg and following the same process in reverse, one finishes with the portrait.”
- Pablo Picasso -
“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the sitter.”
- Oscar Wilde –
Then again, some portraits may have nothing to do with feelings at all (at least not in the ‘spiritual’ sense of the word) – sitters’ or artists’. They are sometimes purely cerebral vehicles for exploring formal or aesthetic concerns. In any event, many observers of the timeless art of portraiture have shared Oscar Wilde’s assessment of just what it is we’re beholding when we gaze upon another’s painted or drawn visage. “The Changing Face of Portraiture” is the name of the latest exhibit in the large upper gallery of the Canton Museum of Art. The works presented here are from the museum’s impressive permanent collection. In Vignette, the museum’s printed guide to its exhibits, we’re asked, “What do we expect from portraiture?...We want more than ‘likeness,’ and we depend on the artist’s imagination to help us see past a subject’s outward appearance toward a larger reality.”
Those likenesses and ‘realities’ can reflect everything from an era’s dominant aesthetic trends and societal perceptions of personality or celebrity, to exploring social behaviors and class differences, or depicting the subtler psychological underpinnings of both artist and subject. All of these aspects of portraiture are evident in this thoroughly diverse and engaging range of works that includes classically refined canvases, elegant prints and watercolors, sumptuous impressionistic visions, stylized abstractions, and some roguish, funky experiments.
The relentless march of sociocultural changes in the world is startlingly evident when you compare the sweetly Neoclassical renderings here by Gilbert Stuart and Nelson Cook (both from the 1800s), to the visceral 1970s “Head With Purple Eyes” by William Gropper, or the equally jarring and surreal “Man With Doll” by Giacomo Porzano. And the austere flatness of Alex Katz’s “Polka Dot Blouse,” with its clear allegiance to Pop Art sensibilities, is a far cry from the lyricism and painterly sensuality in William Findlay’s 1937 “Portrait of Laura G. Findlay.”
Yet for all the variety of pictorial styles and moods through time (specifically 19th and 20th centuries) that we see here - whether bizarre, confrontational, cool and detached, agitated or serene, humorous or deadly serious – the show does indeed bring to mind what, it seems to me, has consistently driven human kind to make portraits in the first place. Surely it is an innate and universal response to our sense of wondering, an externalizing of our innermost desires to know and be known to each other.
Passing glances, concentrated stares, gazes both steady and averted. Human and animal, traditional and modern. You don’t need to necessarily know the specific subjects (real as well as imagined) in these portraits to regard them as fascinating symbols of how we see… seeing. Or consider them visions of how we literally face each other with questions - and answers - about being alive.
Photo, courtesy Canton Museum of Art: “Portrait of Homer White,” 1921 oil by Gerrit Beneker, on view through March 6, 2011, in “The Changing Face of Portraiture” at the Canton Museum of Art / www.cantonart.org / (330) 453 - 7666
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
In Love’s Light
By Tom Wachunas
“I have never done commercial pictures – only of things which moved me deeply – and for love, not money.” - Nell Dorr –
Continuing with the glories of black and white photography, another must-see exhibition is “Between Two Worlds: The Photography of Nell Dorr,” currently on view at the Massillon Museum, through February 27. Nell Dorr (1893-1988) was a Massillon native who learned the art of photography from her father, Massillon portrait photographer Jacob Becker. She was a contemporary of (as well as friends with) Alfred Stieglitz and Edward Steichen. Other friends (and subjects) included the poet Carl Sandburg, silent film star Lillian Gish, and the prominent children’s book author and illustrator Tasha Tudor.
The 75 images here present a remarkably diverse range of thematic interests on Dorr’s part, including portraits, landscapes, and some fascinating low- light / camera-less “abstracts” or “photograms” (on the second floor, where the exhibition continues from the first floor main gallery), which could fairly be called experimental and to some extent ahead of their time. Yet even at her most daring, all of her images consistently share an aesthetic approach that imbues them with ethereal, sometimes fleeting light. Many seem like they emerged from dreams and are on the verge of disappearing into them again.
We learn in the well-written text that accompanies the exhibit that Dorr was a proponent of “Pictorialism,” a Romantic-era aesthetic characterized by scenes in dreamy, soft focus, and one that largely fell out of favor by the mid-20th century. Elsewhere we read, “…Dorr never applied an exacting approach to the taking of pictures with regard to focus or exposure; it was in the darkroom where she concentrated her attention.” So Dorr steadfastly resisted what she saw as the hard-edge, cold detailing of straight photography. In that regard, I think a more telling label for her work could be Photolyricism.
That lyricism is like a poetic thread woven into everything Dorr photographed. She didn’t “take pictures” or even “make” them so much as she recognized a meaningful moment and unobtrusively borrow it. In the process, the softened forms in her compositions acquired a sensuous, even gently voluptuous aura. Yes, there are certainly posed shots, as in her adventuresome nudes wherein the models, like forest nymphs, are at one with their natural surrounds. But what all of her images exude is a palpable cherishing of those moments – a spirit especially poignant in her fanciful portraits of children, as well as her tender, sensitive mother-and-child portraits.
Rest assured this is not the stuff of greeting card sentimentality, though there is a great deal of sentiment evident. It is a guileless sentimentality, neither wishful nor saccharine, and sometimes with just a hint of latent wildness. For all of their “period look,” these images are classical immersions in something beyond a specific time, a certain place. Surely, though, not beyond our own cherishing.
Photo: “Tasha with Ribbon,” 1940s, by Nell Dorr. On view at the Massillon Museum, 121 Lincoln Way E. in downtown Massillon, through February 27, 2011. Admission free. For hours and information, please visit www.massillonmuseum.org or call
(330) 833 - 4061
Friday, December 10, 2010
A Passion Rekindled
By Tom Wachunas
“Democracy has corrupted Art. We’ve gone overboard to assure that virtually anyone with a camera can be ‘creative’ and make a ‘good’ picture, worthy of our praise. So now we’re adrift in a swelling sea of mediocre digital snapshots clamoring for attention, and it has become really quite difficult to discern true greatness when we see it. Welcome to postmodernist America.” - June Godwit -
We’re drowning in photographs, and they just keep coming at breakneck speed. First it was newspapers and magazines, then film and television, now this ubiquitous internet, this world wide web of mind-numbing visuals that suck the magic right out of being alive. Ironic, isn’t it? Here I am communicating to you via the very device I just skewered. But then again, life is full of absurdities, tilting at windmills, nonsequiturs.
“Simply put: I just feel jaded.” Those words are from the very articulate and sensitive statement by Stephen McNulty that accompanies his current show of photographs, titled “Finding Home,” at the Canton Museum of Art. Read the statement, and you clearly get the impression of an artist who was looking to reconnect with his own passion for truly seeing and celebrating what he sees, in a public milieu where both artists and viewers struggle with complacence and attention overloads and/or deficits. So he set out on a journey that took him to the expansive and magical landscapes of Colorado, Wyoming, and South Dakota. Jaded no more, I should say.
Which brings to mind yet another irony, because in viewing past images by McNulty, I never got the sense that they were ever the art of a tired soul. Anyone who has met the man could understandably think he’s simply too young to grapple yet with such profound life/art concerns. But I do understand his statement. His words might well be the musings of an old soul, so to speak, smitten by the timeless splendors of the natural world, and passionate about staying fresh in elevating our own connection to them. At that, he’s a master. Even a warrior. If he worried about losing his edge, he can rest assured he hasn’t. Here, then, is inspiring visual evidence of his journey, and it’ll stop you in your tracks.
While the world-class color images here are certainly breathtaking and achingly sumptuous, one of the most gratifying aspects of this exhibit is the significant number of black-and-white images. I sometimes think there’s a cultural perception afoot that black-and-white photography is irrelevant, lifeless, old school, antique. It would be tragic if such a perception became viral enough to render the practice of this rich tradition extinct. McNulty clearly has a disciplined eye for, and ability to compose and present, wondrously variegated tonalities, from the subtlest grays to the deepest blacks. These images are crisp, heroic visions of mesmerizing textures, forms, and atmospheres. They resonate, amazingly enough, with real emotional energy that invigorates the soul, and can stand proudly with historically pioneering works by such luminaries as Ansel Adams or Edward Weston.
Every image in this show is an elegant invitation to stop and savor the majestic intricacies of spectacular landscapes, and a sparkling window on to what McNulty calls “…the evanescent beauty that still exists in the world…” He says at the end of his statement that he hoped his journey would let him see his hometown “…with new eyes and find a novel way of being part of the Canton arts collective.” As a participant in that collective, I for one feel enthralled and even blessed by the power of his vision. It’s one that is hopefully destined to enthrall far beyond the confines of a single arts community.
Photo, courtesy Canton Museum of Art: “Light Study, Badlands #28,” by Stephen McNulty, from his exhibit, “Finding Home” at the Canton Museum of Art, in the Cultural Center for the Arts, 1001 Market Avenue North, Canton, through March 6, 2011. For information and museum hours, visit www.cantonart.org or call (330) 453 – 7666.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Heard in Heaven
By Tom Wachunas
Handel, Mahler: Christine Brandes (soprano), Gerhardt Zimmermann (conductor)
Canton Symphony Orchestra, Umstattd Hall, Canton, Ohio, USA, 05.12.2010 (TW)
George Frideric Handel: Overture to Theodora (1749), “Angels Bright and Fair” from Theodora, “Let the Bright Seraphim” from Samson (1741)
Gustav Mahler: Symphony No. 4 in G Major (1901)
“Music of the Angels” was the theme of the December 5 concert by the Canton Symphony Orchestra. The program could have just as well been named “Music To the Angels.” In any case, there were many moments throughout the evening when Umstattd Hall reverberated with decidedly heavenly strains.
The orchestra was pared down to Baroque proportions for the program’s first piece - Handel’s Overture to “Theodora.” Kenneth C. Viant pointed out in his program notes that Handel considered the work to be his favorite oratorio. To a limited point that’s understandable, considering the overall intensity of the plot. The story tells of Theodora, a Christian martyr in 4th century Rome. Ironically, little of the story’s dramatic energy seems present in the overture, even in its faster second part after a staid, processional start. But the orchestra’s sound was certainly lovely enough to whet our appetites for the emotional fervor to come.
That fervor was provided abundantly by soprano Christine Brandes as she performed two Handel arias: “Angels Ever Bright and Fair” from “Theodora,” and “Let the Bright Seraphim” from “Samson.” The first aria comes during a pivotal scene in the oratorio wherein Theodora begs angels to take her away rather than be enslaved in the royal court brothel - a fate worse than death. For Samson, the aria is sung by a devout Israelite woman after Samson’s courageous death, and calls upon the angels to celebrate God’s saving power.
In his warm and astute pre-concert commentary on the program, MJ Albacete (Executive Director of the Canton Museum of Art) had explained that Handel’s arias were designed to allow individual soloists’ freedom to dramatically embellish the music according to their particular gifts. In that, Brandes was true to form. Her lower range is sonorous and expressive, providing a fluid spring board, so to speak, for her crisp and often searingly explosive upper-register accents. Certainly the high point of the evening’s first half came during the “Samson” aria. The music is scored with intricate soloing for trumpet, played here by principal trumpeter Scott Johnston with ebullient clarity. The duet of Brandes’ vivacious singing intertwined with the trumpet’s silky verve was indeed an extended moment of angelic soaring, and a clear delight to the audience.
In keeping with the evening’s ethereal content, after intermission the orchestra delivered a wondrously nuanced and stirring performance of Mahler’s Symphony No. 4. Structured around Mahler’s 1892 song, “Das Himmlische Leben (The Heavenly Life)”, and sung in its entirety by Brandes in the fourth movement, the music tells the story of a child’s vision of heaven. Watching Maestro Zimmermann conduct this beloved masterpiece – so rich in emotional energy, from perky and lilting to solemn and processional - brought to mind images of a master sculptor, mallet and chisel in hand, intensely and lovingly revealing a sumptuous form, section-by-section. Maybe that intensity of devotion to the task at hand explains Zimmermann’s baton leaving it, during the first movement, and landing (harmlessly) somewhere in the front of the house. In a particularly endearing moment, Zimmermann turned to the audience before the second movement and nonchalantly retrieved his baton (jokingly blaming the incident on pine tar) from an obliging gentleman in the front row. Such is Zimmermann’s oft-demonstrated grace and humor (I’ll bet Michelangelo wasn’t nearly as gracious when he dropped HIS chisel) which, interestingly enough, along with youthful innocence, are qualities that characterize much of this Mahler work.
Brandes’ singing of the final song was downright inspirational in its embodiment of childlike awe of heavenly wonders, its last line a fitting descriptor of the evening: “The angelic voices rouse the senses so that everything awakens with joy.” The music at this point fades ever so slowly to a lingering, sweet whisper – a gentle ‘tick-tock’ into eternity and…was that the sound of fluttering wings?
Photo: Cherubs from the Madonna of San Sisto, by Raphael, 1513
For concert and ticket info on the Canton Symphony Orchestra, please visit www.cantonsymphony.org
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Thrills the Dickens Into Me
By Tom Wachunas
December 3d was opening night of the 29th annual production of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” by the Players Guild Theatre in Canton. For all of that, the historic tale of one man’s transformation from misanthrope into ebullient disciple of benevolence has lost neither its relevance nor its emotional appeal. Nor, in the case of Players Guild stagings, its thrilling seasonal luster. Once again, then, this revered and long-lived community institution has successfully served up an abundant theatrical feast, with all the trimmings (and then some) that we’ve come to expect from such an iconic story.
This year, Joshua Erichsen (the Guild’s Producing Artistic Director) is the director, and he wears the role well, bringing to it his penchant for presdigitation (more on that later). Combined with the meticulously authentic period costumes designed by Susie Smith and Leslie DeStefano, the wowing light and sound design (including very effective use of ghostly reverb effects) by Scott Sutton, the engaging live orchestral music written by Steve Parsons with clever and compelling lyrics by John Popa, and of course the remarkably talented, energetic 34-member cast, you could rightfully call the evening a magnanimous conspiracy to enchant.
Second-grader Zachary Charlick brings a wide-eyed, genuine earnestness to his role of Tiny Tim Cratchit, all well-captured in the song, “A Child Alone,” that he sings, in one of the evening’s most touching scenes, with Michael Laymon , who plays Bob Cratchit. To that role, Laymon brings real tenderness as an actor and sincere warmth as a singer. Notably tender, too, is Amanda Medley as Belle, Scrooge’s erstwhile sweetheart. Her memorable singing in “I Have to Know” is achingly sweet and melancholic.
The ghosts of Christmas past and present are played by Kelley Edington and Tom Bryant, respectively. Edington’s voice in “Wandering,” like her character who takes Scrooge literally on a flight back to his youth, soars and haunts with piercing urgency. Bryant’s muscular performance also haunts, with infectious humor and palpable joviality, tempered with stern, fatherly admonishments.
And then there is the delightful matter of some creative legerdemain at work here. Mr. Erichsen’s magic touch begins with the set he designed, with its elaborate period tableaus built on rotating platforms. Almost instantly, building exteriors are changed into Scrooge’s bed chamber, or the Cratchit kitchen. Early in the story, the explosive entrance of Jacob Marley (an eminently spooky performance by Larry Weinberg) through the massive portrait over Scrooge’s mantle is topped only by his exit down through a trap-door spewing smoke, eerily colored with a hellish glow. During the party scene at nephew Fred’s house, notice how the parlor window hanging in midair shows snow falling only on the ‘outside’ of the glass.
Finally, as Scrooge, Don Jones – a distinguished veteran of many Guild productions - is a gently commanding presence as we witness his torturous journey through forgotten youth and into a future world that wishes him nothing but good riddance. With skilled finesses he morphs from scowling, distant and gruff self-centeredness into joyful selflessness – in short, a faithfully finished portrait of the man who eventually, as Dickens wrote, “…kept Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.”
Certainly the same can be said of the Players Guild Theatre. The continued tradition of keeping this classic gem of a story shined and alive is truly a labor of love, and a blessing on all who see it.
Photo: Don Jones as Ebenezer Scrooge, courtesy Players Guild Theatre, located in Canton’s Cultural Center for the Arts, 1001 Market Avenue North, Canton. Show times are Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m., Sunday at 2:30 p.m., THROUGH DECEMBER 19. Tickets may be ordered at www.playersguildtheatre.com or by calling (330) 453 – 7617 / $22 for adults, $20 for seniors 60 and older, $17 for ages 18 and younger.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
By Tom Wachunas
It’s been a very long time since I’ve encountered art so deliciously precise and moving in its capacity to draw out the very core of a person or place as that of Dean Mitchell. His show of 40 paintings at the Canton Museum of Art, called “Dean Mitchell: Space, People & Places,” is more than merely evocative. His watercolors are painterly embodiments of spirit - an ineffable architecture of life essences. While some comparisons to Andrew Wyeth are unavoidable, Mitchell’s astonishing brush work is a stand-alone signature, and the sultry white sunlight so prevalent in these visions, coupled with their gentle loneliness, is uniquely Southern.
There’s not a single work here that isn’t somehow stunning either for its technical excellence or its emotional resonance. More often than not, both of those aspects are conveyed with simmering élan. His compelling portraits of street musicians isolated on all-white (or nearly so) grounds, as in “Gulf Water Blues” or “Bongo Drummer” for example, are more sculpted than drawn into being. While their poses effectively capture their contemplative, sometimes weary hearts, you can still practically hear their music.
That same sense of sheer aliveness emanates from the sun drenched buildings that Mitchell paints. Some, like “Deer Skin” and “Preservation Hall” are dappled with rhythmic, sumptuous shadows that seem to dance across the structures’ walls. In all of his architectural renderings, Mitchell’s textures and physical detail embellishments are delightfully rich without being flashy, cold exercises in hyper-realism. Structures with souls, structures that speak. Even in their varying states of disrepair, or neglect from poverty they, like his portraits, are imbued with a dignity that is quietly heroic.
For all of his truly masterful technique – his impeccable sense of composition, his thrilling dexterity of touch, his fluent handling of subtle, earthy tonalities that appear to breathe right before your eyes – it would appear that Mitchell doesn’t just paint his subjects. He loves them. And in turn, it seems impossible for us as viewers not to do the same.
Photo: “Living on the Streets,” watercolor by Dean Mitchell, on view in “Dean Mitchell: Space, People & Places,” at the Canton Museum of Art, inside the Cultural Center for the Arts at 1001 Market Avenue North, Canton, through March 6, 2011. Gallery hours are 10 a.m to 8 p.m. Tuesday and Wednesday / 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Thursday and Friday / 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturday / 1 to 5 p.m. Sunday (Closed Monday).
For more info visit www.cantonart.org