The Art Ecosystem Dayton Built
Updated: 6 days ago
There is a rich art history in Dayton that many of us, myself included, know surprisingly little about. The closing exhibition of the Dayton Art Institute (DAI) Retrospective at the Dayton Society of Artists wasn’t simply a look into Dayton’s artistic past. It offered a glimpse of an artistic ecosystem that could be revived.
Walking into the historic brick building in St. Anne’s Hill is like walking back in time. The stained-glass door squeaks on its hinges as you are greeted by a spiraling dark wooden staircase. Who has walked up those stairs? What movements began in this house?
As it turns out, those aren’t entirely rhetorical questions.
Inside was a mixture of well-honed techniques and distinct artistic voices, all gathered in the historic home of the Dayton Society of Artists. Some of the works carried the confidence of artists who had spent decades developing their craft, while others felt more exploratory. There was no single medium, style, or perspective that defined what it meant to have come through the DAI school.
And maybe that is exactly the point.
The Dayton Art Institute was once more than a museum. The museum, its school, and Dayton’s community of artists worked together in a kind of creative ecosystem. Artists gathered and taught. Students learned not only in classrooms but among the works hanging in the galleries after hours. Those students became artists themselves, developed their own voices, and contributed back to Dayton’s cultural landscape. It was a beautiful model that was also self-feeding.
Standing among the work of those alumni made that history more tangible. Meeting some of the people who actually attended made the history feel close. Among that range of styles and experience, there were a few standouts for me:
Jill Josupeit, Untitled — Attended 1962–1966
Etching
9" x 14"
1965
This piece draws you in with its haunting, smoke-like hands reaching in every direction, grasping at the air as if trying to catch your thoughts. This work has a sound in your head that echoes, screams. The shock on the faces and the chaos of the figures draw you deeper and deeper into the etching.
It has weight in feeling while keeping its size small; its impact is huge. The figures feel almost ancient, as though we are looking at a story whose beginning has been lost to time. What remains is the haunting contortion of bodies and faces that still manages to communicate something though time.
Louis Weber, Mother and Child — Attended in the 1940s
Copper Enamel
13.5" x 10.5" x 1"
80s/90s
Classically, Mother and Child has the connotation of Christ and the mother Mary or Madonna and Child. The figures are often depicted in a holy, glowing light that shows their closeness to God. They are the image of the ultimate love between parent and child.
In Louis Weber’s version, however, everything feels distorted, dark, and chilling. Instead of the child being cradled in the mother’s lap, the child seems to be strapped to her back. They seem to be moving somewhere. There is no time for closeness other than this moment of quiet.
To me, it feels less like a portrait of motherly serenity and more like a moment of quiet before the darkness reaches them. They share the same exhausted expression. They are weary and unsure, clouded in shadow. Their eyes seem to bleed as they slowly lose themselves into the backdrop.
Paul Melia, Flying Machines — Attended in 1995
Watercolor/Mixed Media
1995
With its fractured shapes, bold geometry, and overlapping planes, Flying Machines immediately recalls Cubism and geometric abstraction. The fractured shapes and energy are almost chaotic. Its network of lines is extremely exciting to watch. The one word that hits you right away is MOVEMENT. Your eye is on a scattered hunt as they are unable to settle in just one area. As their frantic search continues you start to piece together the intertwining of the planes. The wheels reveal themselves first, then the wings are clearly shown, then you are able to see the whole plane.
John Fryant, Steamer Julie Belle Swaine — Attended 1957–1961
Pencil on Paper
24" x 19"
1977
Up close, this almost photographic image dissolves into thousands of tiny, stippling-like marks. Dense clusters create the deepest shadows, while the marks gradually scatter until they disappear into the untouched paper. You could almost walk right by with a remark or “what a pretty picture” without truly grasping the years of skill development and the extraordinary patience, technique, and craft required to accomplish this effect so beautifully.
These aren’t simply pieces hanging on a wall from people who happened to attend the same school. They are evidence of what can happen when a city creates an infrastructure around its artists and then gives that infrastructure time to grow.
What makes the history of the school even more interesting is that this ecosystem wasn’t necessarily built all at once. The school began with night and weekend classes. Local artists were brought in to teach, sometimes for little or no cost. As the program developed, artists could continue beyond introductory instruction, bringing their work in for critique and further developing their craft. At times, the museum galleries themselves became classrooms, with artists studying directly in front of the works on display.
It grew because people participated in it.
But an artistic ecosystem cannot exist through an institution alone. It requires a community willing to participate in it, to take the class, attend the exhibition, buy the work, volunteer, teach, critique, talk about art, and simply show up.
While speaking with Kathleen, the historian of the Dayton Society of Artists, she made a point that stuck with me: an artistic ecosystem depends on community buy-in. An institution has to invest in its community if it expects that community to become invested in return.
Maybe that is what makes looking at the alumni exhibition feel relevant rather than simply nostalgic. The people represented on these walls are the result of generations of people showing up. Someone taught the class. Someone took it. Someone opened the gallery. Someone offered a critique. Someone decided that creating a place for artists to learn was worth doing.
Dayton has built that kind of ecosystem before. Maybe the more interesting question isn’t whether we could build one now, but what it would take for all of us to help it grow again.
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