June 4, 2007: A Gallery Competes With Hot Car Night

Story and Photos By Joe Zlomek

The summer's first classic car show was in full swing Saturday night (June 2, 2007) in downtown Pottstown PA. People strolled along High Street, enjoying something stunningly different to look at every few feet. Distractions were abundant, with visitors oohing and ahhing at the shiny hoods, bright chrome bumpers and gas-guzzling engines among dozens of autos on display.

Amid the glitz and glamour, it was easy to miss James M. Enders.

Enders, a tall, quiet man with blue eyes and closely cropped hair, sat in the doorway of his still-open shop, eating a sandwich as the human parade passed by. That Enders was there at all seemed a minor miracle. Most other stores lining the blocks of downtown were curiously closed, despite the obviously heavy foot traffic. Maybe it was people-watching that kept Enders in place. Maybe it was the sandwich. Maybe it was just a chance to attract new customers.

Enders has operated Dada Art Galleries Inc. at 217 High St. for about three years. His shop -- in part a gallery of his own paintings, and part showroom of others' historical artworks -- is a sliver of a door and window facing the main thoroughfare. Cruise down High Street at only a mile or two over the speed limit and you'd never see it there. Signage is small, if at all, and his business cards are orange strips of ink-stamped cardstock that hang from a metal stand about 10 feet within. A marketing genius he's not. An artist, he is.

Actually, dadaism is said to be anti-art. The term (from the French "dada," a child's word for a horse) describes a post-World War I cultural movement that constituted a protest against war, its confusion, and its inhumanity. Dadaist works were deliberately irrational or nonsensical, and rebelled against intellectual rigidity.

Enders prefers to define himself as an "abstract expressionist extraordinaire." At least, that's what his business cards proclaimed. The gallery walls showed it, too. Enders displayed large, bright and whimsical canvases with eyes, and curves and stick figures of all types. Blue, yellow and orange hues dominated against black. Some themes were immediately recognizable. Others took awhile to understand.

That's exactly what Enders had, though: a while. He was in no hurry. He let a pair of newcomers roam the shop without saying much to them. "Hi. Nice night." Bite of sandwich. Pause. Then, "these are mine," he said, pointing to a few canvases, "and I sell other pieces too," pointing beyond. The artist was pleasant and attentive. He answered questions. He talked briefly about his business. He mentioned a show of his works that will open soon at a Philadelphia gallery.

The newcomers craned their necks, taking in frames standing on the floor, leaning against the wall, or hanging by hook, cord or wire. There was a lot to see in the space, no matter how small it appeared, and Enders' relative silence encouraged the thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of discovery.

Maybe he's a marketing genius after all.

Sadly, the newcomers either didn't see anything they wanted to buy, or they weren't in a buying mood. Nothing moved out of the shop during their foray into it. It's likely they'll be back again, however ... when the hot-looking cars aren't competing for their attention.