Have you ever walked into an art gallery and felt like you’ve stumbled into a party where every guest is more intriguing than the last? That’s the vibe I got from Matthew Higgs’s latest salon-style exhibition, and it’s an experience that’s stuck with me long after I left the space. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Higgs has curated a collection of paintings that feel less like a cohesive theme and more like a gathering of eclectic personalities. It’s as if each artwork is a person you could strike up a conversation with, and the mismatched chairs scattered throughout the gallery only reinforce this idea—you’re not just observing art; you’re choosing whom to sit with and engage.
One thing that immediately stands out is the sheer diversity of styles and subjects. From a haunting portrait by Denzil Forrester to a shimmering, almost Vuillard-esque piece by Andrew Cranston, the works seem to have little in common beyond the medium of paint. Personally, I think this is where the genius lies. In an art world often dominated by thematic exhibitions or heavy-handed narratives—think ecological crises or identity politics—Higgs dares to present art for art’s sake. It’s a refreshing departure from the quasi-academic jargon that often cloaks the fact that art is, at its core, a deeply subjective experience.
What many people don’t realize is how rare this approach has become. Modern art fairs and biennials often feel like they’re designed to uphold a certain academic or commercial system, privileging technique over raw expression. Higgs’s salon, on the other hand, feels like a throwback to the independent salons of the 19th century, where artists like Manet and Cézanne challenged the status quo. If you take a step back and think about it, Higgs is doing something radical here: he’s reclaiming the idea that art doesn’t need a grand justification to exist. It’s enough for it to spark curiosity, to invite you to linger, to reveal something new if you’re willing to give it time.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the way the exhibition encourages you to slow down. In most galleries, the layout is designed to keep you moving, herding you toward the gift shop or the exit. But here, the placement of chairs—from a gothic throne to a stackable school chair—invites you to sit and spend time with a piece. I did this with a Stephen McKenna cloudscape, and what started as a simple arrangement of pigment gradually unfolded into a world of feeling. It didn’t work with every painting—I spent ages with a Walter Price piece that just wouldn’t ‘speak’ to me—but that’s the point. If you immediately connect with everything, you’re probably not being challenged.
This raises a deeper question: what does it mean to have a meaningful experience with art? From my perspective, it’s not about technical expertise or intellectual analysis. It’s about time, openness, and a willingness to let the work reveal itself. Higgs seems to understand this intuitively. His salon isn’t a lecture; it’s a conversation. And like any good party, it’s the differences between the guests that make it exciting.
What this really suggests is that the art world could use more of this kind of experimentation. In an era where everything feels curated to death, Higgs’s approach feels alive, unpredictable, and deeply human. It’s a reminder that art doesn’t need to be explained—it just needs to be experienced. So, the next time you’re in a gallery, try this: pick a painting, set a timer, and just stare. Things might get strange, but isn’t that the point?
