Some reason the only thing in life that can be certain is death. I’d amend that sentiment and add consequences to the list. The thought of consequences and death is depressing, making it easy to forget the beauty in life when consumed by this trite melancholy. Roger Brown takes these notions and embellishes them with playfulness. His use of color is campy just as his perspective is abstract.

        As a graduate from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in the 1970s, Brown became associated with the Chicago Imagists. He painted cityscapes and landscapes that commented on the sociopolitical and environmental consequences of human life, up until his death from complications of AIDS in 1997. The pieces in “Weathervane” criticize the consequences of human ambition on the environment and the looming reality of death.

        Bigger is not always better. In Lake Effect, what is supposed to be the towering city of Chicago is reduced to a skyline that frames less than a third of the painting. Although tiny in scale, the city presents a reasonable threat. The toxins emanating from the city buildings speckle the sky. The majority of the piece depicts large black and red rings vibrating from the miniscule city. The red rings signal a warning of what’s to come, what’s already happened, and what’s imminent if we continue on our industrial advancement.

        Even in the foreground, silhouettes of people are clouded in the haze. Buses and trucks contribute to the pollution. It is enticing to want bigger buildings and grander cities. Brown is reminding us that no matter how big we build our cities, the world is much larger, and so is the impact of our ambition.

        Winter Storm II is almost a parallel. Its composition is partly a landscape that stretches across the entire canvas, but mostly a sky of curving luminous swirls. The difference being slate-colored swirls in the sky and a snow-covered landscape. When paired together, it presents the same warning as Lake Effect. Our environment reflects how we are treating it, whether it be polluted air or an eternal Chicago snowstorm.

        A fable that reflects our industrial ambition is seen in Untitled. Brown explores the downfall of human ambitions through the depiction of Icarus and Daedalus. The piece shows Icarus, after ignoring his father’s warning, flying too close to the sun, and melting his wings, causing him to plummet to the seas below. Icarus’s ambition to climb higher to the glorified sun, ultimately leads to his death. The bottom third of the painting depicts treacherous waves that ultimately lead to Icarus’s drowning. While the rest depicts fey clouds soaked in a divine light.

        We are flying closer to the sun, nearly ready to plummet to our destructive death. Brown nearly promises this as our ambitions continue to strive us higher. Despite the warning, there is an irony to comparing our efforts as humans to an infamous story. Icarus, a story we’ve told countless times, feels counterintuitive to his warnings from the previous paintings. The comparison feeds human ego, claiming our ambitions will be just as famous as the story of Icarus’s fall. Why excuse our ambitions by comparing it to such a tale?

        Or does Brown simply see human ambition with an inflated ego already? Is Untitled just a self-portrait? Does the ambition of Icarus not only reflect our industrial desires, but our general desires as humans?

Down Down Down shows us what this dance towards death could look like. A blue and black downward spiral coils lower as Brown’s signature silhouettes and the painting’s title follow along. When the complications of life become too much, it can be like a whirlpool you can’t swim out of.

        The Alice-in-Wonderland spiral, the descent towards a watery death, is the terror we can’t swim against. Around this time, Brown had lost his long-term partner, George Veronda in 1984. It was in the late 80s that Brown was diagnosed as HIV positive, to later show symptoms of AIDS in the early 90s. It was a time when protection from prejudice and discrimination for being gay barely existed. Down Down Down not only reflects the depressing fall of what it means to be human, but what it also means to be gay. The silhouettes, which are often black, are colored with many hues of the rainbow.

        But at the end of Down Down Down’s spiral, there is a reprieve. Bonsai #2, Climbing with the Cascade (Kengai) shows the joy that also comes with the human condition. Two climbers connected by rope scale a large bonsai tree while their friend encourages them along. The climber’s determination to scale this giant tree shows their ambition, but it also shows their coexistence with the natural world around them. Although life can come with consequences, Brown notes that it’s important to stop and scale the bonsai.

        The synthesis of Brown’s complicated feelings about life can be seen in Couple Progressing Towards Mount Rincon. The piece shows onlookers gazing up at the large Arizona mountains. The sky surrounds the mountain. On top, is a city, so faint, it was as if it was drawn on with a mechanical pencil. It’s a reflection of how small we humans are compared to the world around us. Although Brown comments on human reconciliation with ambition, death, and life, these problems are miniscule to the beauty in this verdant expanse. We all must die, that is the one thing that is certain. How we navigate it and manage its consequences is up to us.

        Couple Progressing Towards Mount Rincon was finished in 1997, Brown’s last year of life. It’s hard to ignore the possible heavenly connotation to the indistinct city on top of the mountain. Through this last piece, Roger Brown argues that love is another thing that is certain in life. Despite how small our efforts can be compared to the vast earth, the onlookers still marvel at the small city. Mount Rincon champions balance—finding the right methods to enjoy our ambitions while protecting our earth. The queer community wouldn’t be where it is today without this balance. Throughout Brown’s life, the queer community fought for their right to live. It was a movement of ambition, rage, struggle, and the fear of death.

        Now, nearly 30 years after Brown’s death, the community is built on pride, joy, and the fight that our ancestors survived. The community is a testament to the same principles Roger Brown painted about. Despite the certainty of life’s consequences and death, the community survives with joy.

Andrew Hart Benson (they/them/theirs) is a queer writerand editor based in Chicago. To contact, find them on Instagram @abensxn.