Robert Cheatham is properly pissed that nobody has given his thus-titled show at Eyedrum the analytical review it deserves. It deals, at its most basic, with how we make art regarding that in which we believe or do not believe, the more so when the belief is ridiculous to us or is essentially difficult to capture in a fully adequate form. And the show at Eyedrum seems to be mostly equal measures of the two responses. So it ought to be revelatory of the dimensions of skepticism and faith, or what makes us willing to suspend disbelief long enough to enjoy the fantasies of others versus what makes us willing only to shake our heads in disbelief.
Several thousand rambling words have been written by me as a preliminary reaction to the show, and, the Merciful Omnipotence being willing, said words will be posted in due course, more or less as composed.