Fact: I love art shows.

They’re immersive, sensual, mind-expanding. They’re social, conversational, and a terrific excuse for dressing to impress. Plus, classic charcuterie and quality wine? Culinary simplicity at its finest.

I love going out with friends for food, drink, or a movie or concert. But no activity encourages thoughtful, on-the-spot conversation quite like an art show.

Last week, rain poured down the highway, The Rolling Stones’ Hackney Diamonds riffing away, as I drove to my destination: a holiday art show, mysteriously titled “Smoke and Mirrors,” showcasing brilliant, up-and-coming abstract painter Lynne McDonald. I had only seen her work online, so this was my opportunity to see their tangible glory.

I arrived at 6:40 p.m., opened the gallery door, and at once stepped to the reception table. A tall, slender blonde with a big smile greeted me and another couple that had entered. “Welcome! I’m Lora! Please sign in, grab a glass of wine, and enjoy the show!”

With that, my immersion into “Smoke and Mirrors” began.

I turned from the reception table to my left to survey the scene. The first sight in front of me was a massive abstract that was impossible to miss in size and scope, yet also impossible to see fully from the gathering of guests using it as a photo backdrop. I could make out splashy deep blues and purposeful gold splotches over a canvas as pure white as milk. But I knew I’d be waiting a long while if I was to take a good look at the painting for myself.

I navigated the multitude of guests, passing a striking blue cyclone painting on an easel and a cluster of eight-by-eight-inch flower paintings on a table, straight to the bar. But then there it was: a 24-by-36-inch acrylic abstract that totally won my heart, for certain my favorite, titled “Surf.” More open and vivid white than other abstracts in the exhibit, Lynne’s painting pulled me into the barrel of a crashing wave, curls of blue, silver, and black opening into the light. Its motion and depth felt photorealistic—a vision I won’t forget.

Dazed yet invigorated, I reached the bar and ordered a cool, crisp, clean chardonnay from the bartender. Also, in case of a two-drink minimum. Which most art shows don’t have. But any good one should. Standards.

I entered the main room within the gallery where the show’s namesake painting rested on its easel: an intentional torrent of blues, greys, and whites on its canvas. Stunning.

I examined Lynne’s other paintings in this room, floods of color and brushstrokes. Two of them especially stood out in their audacity. “Blush” resembled sand amplified into intensely hot pink sea salt. “Reflections” split horizontally, contrasting its blues, whites, and blacks against each other, resulting in a clever yet sympathetic mood piece.

Outside the room was a small hallway. On the upper right wall by itself hung “Serenity,” a deep-green abstract. For all the art show’s primacy on elemental colors, this felt secretive, as if Lynne was quietly protecting its emerald beauty. It shook me.

I leisurely began returning to the show’s lobby. Two complementary abstracts on pure white canvas were mounted a meter apart on the hallway wall.

The left painting, “Present,” was a linear, circular swirl of blues with streaks of blacks and grays; the right painting, “Future,” was its less linear maternal twin and with noticeable clusters of droplets. It was as if a vision was coming into focus.

Intriguingly, there was no “Past.” I related to this idea: I consider myself sentimental but not nostalgic. Somehow, I suspect Lynne does too.

As I admired the abstracts, a fellow guest, an older, gray-haired woman dressed elegantly with a professorly air and curious tone, walked up. She asked, “What do you think of the show?”

“This is wonderful,” I replied. “The paintings have a lot of craft and energy to them. Not to sound pretentious—and this will sound pretentious! — what I like most is that each painting seems to have its own story to tell.”

The guest was taken aback. I guess she had not expected my response! “I never thought of them that way. Are you a collector?”

“Not yet. Though I have some original folk art and abstracts on my walls at home. Someday though!”

She laughed. My glass was nearly empty, so I did what any self-respecting art gallery visitor would do: “Come with me, let’s get some more wine!”

We walked out of the hallway past the main room entrance and into the lobby. To my left, like déjà vu, that massive abstract with colorful deep blue splashes and gold splotches, with another gathering of guests awaiting their photos and blocking my full view. It was truly this art show’s centerpiece… and all who attended knew it. My imagination hectored me as if I should be getting VIP treatment, “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM??”

We sauntered to the bar, me for this second round. Prosecco aside, Lynne must have known I was attending. Though I love wine in all its varieties, I relish its yin-and-yang extremes the most: this time I ordered from the bartender a Cabernet Sauvignon. Game on! I also loaded up on English water crackers, cheeses brie, gouda, cheddar, and grapes—like I’d turn away from that.

The older, gray-haired woman and I continued chatting at the edge of the hors d’oeuvres table, then remembered her reason for being here. “I’m going to look at some of the paintings you’ve seen. We’ll talk more later.” I responded, “Sounds good to me, I’ve got plenty more to see too.”

I strode back to an intriguing painting that had caught my eye on the way to get that Cabernet, memorably titled “Joy.” Unlike the other abstracts, the colors were orderly, vertical, corduroy-like orange, green, and yellow streaks over another white canvas. The contrast to Lynne’s other works made sense to me too. A subtle statement that poked through the washes and waves of blue. “Do you like that one?”

For some reason, I was startled. “Oh, hi. Yes, this is remarkable!” “Thank you! I’m Lynne.”

“Smoke and Mirrors” with Lynne McDonald. Photo credit: Chelsea Patricia Photography, 2024.

“Joy” with Lynne McDonald. Photo credit: Chelsea Patricia Photography, 2024.

“Hi Lynne, I’m Frank. What a pleasure it is to meet you. Your work is extraordinary.”

I then told her about my perspective on “Joy,” how its vibrant colors and deliberate design stood out among the other abstracts, and how it felt like a playful contrast. Excitingly, she agreed with my assessment. Yes, art is subjective. But I state facts, not opinions, so my perspective is always objective.

Lynne expressed she was pleased about that work, as she should be. She appreciated my point of view: my tone was goofball, yet my insights were serious.

We agreed to reconnect later as she had other guests to meet. As for me, I had a Cabernet to finish, more gallery nooks to explore, and more paintings to consider.

I turned to my right and, to my good fortune, the floor space in front of the show’s abstract centerpiece opened, free from other guests who could block my full view. It was about time!

The 96-by-72-inch painting, practically an installation, was titled “Elements: Wind, Water, Earth, Fire.” It resembled an impressionistic satellite image: deep blue splashes like rushing sea currents, overlaid upon a rotating white hurricane creeping past golden islands toward some indeterminate coastline.

The centerpiece had indeed packed a powerful punch. It was worth the time I had waited to see this.

“Hey!” said a voice to my left a couple of yards away. It was the bartender. She and the caterers had nearly finished a fast cleanup of the cheese and fruit boards and were busy breaking down their setup. “I’ve got this last splash of Chardonnay. Want it?”

Now that’s the VIP treatment I was talking about! “Heck yeah!” She poured the remaining wine from the bottle into my glass. A palette cleanser!

I wandered around the remaining nooks of the exhibit. A 36-by-60-inch forest-green abstract titled “Into the Woods” made me think of the fan-favorite song “A Forest” from The Cure with its lyric “Into the trees.” Like Lynne’s other paintings, I bet this was intentional.

Another painting, “Sapphire,” looked exactly that: massive gemstone blue, as if I was looking from inside of it. Uniquely cool.

I looked at my watch and the time was 8:40 p.m. The art show was to have ended at 8:00 p.m. I had not expected to go into overtime, yet here we all were.

Not to overstay my welcome, it was time for me to leave. I bid farewell to Lynne, Lora, and others I met who were ready to leave too. My mind buzzed—not from the wine (seriously!), but from the “Present”: I explored that intersection of art, culture, and connection with other like-minded individuals for two fast-paced hours. I rediscovered a feeling I hadn’t had in ages, roaring back to life: I craved that “Future”, and now wanted more. I drove away from the gallery, grateful.

The pouring rain had finally stopped.