To find Mint Gallery is to experience Atlanta. It is not the castle on the hill of the High Museum, a collective effort of Richard Meier and Renzo Piano. A promontory of white steel projecting into the sky. An inviting courtyard without an inviting passage. It removes itself from the street and all that the street represents; a coexistence with the pedestrian, the flâneur of the city. The museum does not recognize their existences. They are foreign ideas to the automotive driven city of Atlanta, but the vestiges of such still permeate the urban fabric.Mint Gallery has no street address. It has no front door. To enter is to enter through a side door. To find the street it is closest to is to know the street. It is an unmarked grave. A testament to the forgotten soldier. It is one of many unmarked streets of Atlanta.
Mint Gallery is the forgotten hole in the wall bar that you hear about though a convoluted network. The patrons there are all regulars.
It has potential to be the next Whitespace. Its front door is along the Beltline. If Atlanta’s most ambitious paradigm shifting transit is completed what will become of Mint Gallery? Will it be destroyed for a new cupcake shop? Most likely. The cities notion of the Beltline is a pristine park. Devoid of the homeless that plague the city. An urban oasis to attract suburbanites back into the city. A manicured front lawn. Grass cut at 1.75 in every fortnight.
Mint gallery is the intersection of high and lowbrow art. The invitation for the spectators to create their own work of art and activate the canvas through the preformative game of Bingo is a rarefied commodity in the highly codified art world. You will not find a Duchamp in Mint gallery; it is possible the controversial arrest of Ai Weiwei was outside their realm of awareness. But they are not caught up with the world of mainstream art and the pervasive consumerism to follow. Mint gallery allows for the expression of the spectator. The observer becomes the artist.
[ art, Beltline, bingo, Culture, mint gallery, pbr ]