I stood in the hospital hallway admiring a row of paintings which lined the walls. They were a series of Wisconsin landscapes brightening up an otherwise drab hospital corridor. I was there waiting, along with two family members, for the nursing staff to complete an exam of a loved one in a nearby room. “There’s some affirmative action going on with this art,” said my father-in-law.
“What do you mean?” I asked, perplexed. The paintings were landscapes. I glanced more closely at the artist’s name. It was generic enough it didn’t accurately reveal an ethnicity. [Read more…]