First-rate ingenuity on Second Avenue

When renowned curator Robert Storr spoke at the UW's Kane Hall a couple weeks ago, he pointed out how little effect the five bloody years of war in Iraq have had on American art. It was a chilling observation and reminded me again how disconnected most of us are from the realities of the conflict. Things felt different in the Vietnam era, when the draft and the urgency of news from the front kept many people more personally involved — and outraged.

That's one reason I was glad to see Aaron McKinney at least acknowledge the war in his succinct little painting "Evil" in the BLVD Gallery show titled "Good v. Evil." That show and a visit to McLeod Residence gallery down the street make a refreshing interlude from more predictable gallery fare.

McKinney imagined the Iraq-based "war on terror" as a machine masking corporate greed, an animated tank with oil rigs and skyscrapers sprouting like hair from its squat Neanderthal forehead. The monster swings a briefcase and cellphone, and puffs on its gun like a fat cigar. McKinney painted the creature against a delicate pink and gray wash, so that its ugliness stands against the sunrise-in-the-desert beauty of the painted ground. If handled less skillfully, the image could have ended up a political cartoon cliché, but McKinney injected it with something more.

The rest of the show is a funky, lively catchall, a patchwork of fantasy illustrations and multi-styled what-have-you by graphic artists who work in the video-game industry — and make their living on the surefire formula of Good vs. Evil. The casualness of the presentation can be a little disconcerting: The artworks are crowded together in haphazard clusters, and the artists labeled their work by simply penciling the information on the wall beneath each piece. Overall, it's an energetic if messy arrangement that didn't play up the best of the work. Still, I liked spending time with McKinney's companion piece "Good" (hanging across the room), which casts nature in the role; and the wild horror vacui of Tim Swope's tangled drawings "Balance" and "Brawl."

Just up the street, the McLeod Residence — a gallery and private-club lounge — celebrates its first anniversary with a handful of multimedia art and design projects scattered throughout its eccentric spaces. Half the fun is checking out the assortment of 3-D slide viewers hanging in an open corner closet and the crazy computerized mirror in the women's bathroom.

The 3-D pictures are Ingrid Schultz's way of fighting the winter doldrums in Seattle, a project she dubbed "Seasonal Therapy." After photographing sun-drenched images in a special format, she installed them in old-fashioned plastic viewers for a low-tech virtual experience. The one that really blossomed for me was the moodiest, featuring an empty swing photographed face-on against a darkening sky. Then there's the higher-tech part of the gallery lineup: the buttoned down, ultra-chic light-and-textile design work of Seattle's Maggie Orth — which looks like it belongs on the walls of some sleek Redmond condo — and the folk art fervor of Kentucky artist Cynthia Norton's installation next door, complete with a wizened array of apple-head dolls, a video quilt and quirky homemade musical instruments. The general-store approach to showing art seems to be the guiding principle at this venue, for better or worse.

Perhaps the most spellbinding piece this time hangs alone behind the reception desk. How can you compete with Jason Huntley's "Breakfast in Neverland," a big mosaic portrait of Michael Jackson composed of kids breakfast cereal? Huntley made the picture during the 2005 Jackson trial and reportedly left it uncovered in his studio for the past couple of years. Talk about unwholesome stuff! Nary an insect or critter dared to snack on the colorful and chemically enriched little caloric puffs. Now that's choosing the perfect medium for your message.

Sheila Farr: sfarr@seattletimes.com