Growing Up -- More an environment than an exhibit, this cohesive little show by Cleveland Institute of Art student Brooke Inman immerses visitors in the past while inviting them to examine the present and future from that perspective. A 10-year-old might have created Inman's pictures of her childhood home -- and she wants us to imagine that one did, even though the black-and-white images are actually detailed prints made to resemble old photographs. This is also the case with a series of self-portraits, which depict Inman as resolutely cheerful, despite braces and bad hair, during some awkward, prepubescent phase. More affecting is Inman-as-a-child dreaming, on paper, of her future home, a perfect suburban dwelling complete with basketball court. She even pays tribute to fort-building, that quintessential childhood pastime, with a carpeted nook formed from an overturned sofa. Inside are two artist books with copies of the prints on the walls, turning the fort into a sort of study. The real coup de grace, though, is right in the front window: a walled-off section of the room that appears to be stuffed from floor to ceiling with old toys, a child's hidden stash. Adult artists reverting to childhood can grow tiresome quickly, but Inman's show is too small for that. It manages to prompt reflection on significant questions about what we decide to discard, gain, and hold onto as we age. Through January 21 at Raw & Co Gallery, 1009 Kenilworth Ave., 216-781-2211, www.rawandcogallery.com. -- Lewis
I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night -- Thank the Cleveland Institute of Art for this amply stocked show, for which students produced each piece during a recent studio class. Given the wide-ranging results, it's clear nobody found the theme confining. Kyle Moore's small ceramic beds, displayed on an antique bed frame, are particularly compelling in their portrayal of various nightmarish possibilities. There's the fear of vaporization in "Where We Once Were," in which a bed is burned, atom-bomblike, with only shadows of humans left behind; but just as disturbing is the fear of simple abandonment, shown in an empty bed called "White, Lonely Sleep State." Kate Kisicki's series of "Storm" paintings are surprisingly dissimilar; the best of them exude the majestic turbulence of a tidal-wave print by Hokusai. Justin Martin's set of envelopes labeled "good," "bad," and "ugly" are surreally amusing theatrical scenarios on paper, but it's his "It Wasn't All in My Head" that's among the show's most purely artistic entries: a pencil-drawn flow chart of his mental activity one evening in 2003. That night, Martin really did have too much to dream. Through January 14 at E. Gordon Gallery, 2026 Murray Hill Road, 216-795-0971, www.egordongallery.com. -- Lewis
Launching Zorcutt -- If Zachary Orcutt is anything like his eccentric alter ego Zorcutt, he's a guy you want at your party. In this off-the-wall show inspired by flight (both real and metaphorical, as in the artist transcending the mundane), Orcutt crafts large-scale flying machines that are more pleasing to the eye than functional; constructed of dense metals such as steel and bronze, they're far too fantastical to actually move, let alone become airborne. The focus is on Zorcutt's solo missions: "Ephemeral Flight" is a gigantic cross between a hang glider and a missile launcher, with two small foot platforms and handlebars, and barely enough room for the brave pilot it would require. In all his works, Orcutt spares no detail. The half-human, half-robot skeleton wearing the enormous jetpack in "Justin Case" rides an incredibly complex hunk of welded metal, with an engine supporting a propeller and an oxygen-fueled blast system. There's absurd humor in almost everything, but none more deadpan than "Home Security System," a big green bomb with directional fins. Jokes aside, there's a touching contradiction between these woefully earthbound objects and the innocently yearning spirit that conceived them. Orcutt is like the child who imagines his soapbox racer could beat a Ferrari. Through January 6 at the Sculpture Center, 1834 E. 123rd St., 216-229-6527, www.sculpturecenter.org. -- Lewis
Multiplicity -- Minimalism may not be a particularly deep aesthetic concept, but it has inspired some stunning visual work in this show, where patterns formed by otherwise mundane pieces yield large, viscerally moving creations in a variety of media. Sarah Chokyi Bauer's video of herself performing a repetitive Buddhist ceremony (flopping to the floor, standing up again) gets dull fast, but the two accompanying wall-size compilations of the individual film frames offer a beautiful experience enriched by subtle gradations in light from daytime to darkness. Each of Danielle Julian-Norton's pressed-rice boats, meanwhile, is a wonder unto itself, but dozens of them suspended from the ceiling (in "Treading and Transport") form something else altogether: a terrain that's weightless and fragile, but also faintly imposing. In the work of Patrick Gabler, small, inky-black curlicues painted in circles on huge paper scrolls become giant, feathery-textured planets with orbiting moons. Loren Schwerd's "Loveseat" consists of two wicker-bottomed chairs connected at their seats with long, woven strands of hair. It doesn't exactly fit the show's theme, but it's so creative, it hardly matters. Through January 6 at Spaces, 2220 Superior Viaduct, 216-621-2314, www.spacesgallery.org. -- Lewis
Thomas Frontini -- Convivium 33, a new gallery housed in an overhauled Catholic church, is an enormous artwork unto itself, with its high arched ceilings, intricately carved woodwork, and raised altar. It's also huge, with wall space sufficient for major shows and gathering room enough for a small cavalry. Its inaugural exhibit features the equally distinctive paintings of Cleveland Heights artist Thomas Frontini. Complex, poignant, humorous, and wildly allusive, Frontini's work harks loudly back to the Renaissance, when cherubs, angels, and other mythical creatures were prime painterly subjects; but he also keeps one foot planted firmly in the 21st century -- Hummers and airplanes are everywhere. His flat, mural-like pieces center around human subjects, which are often dwarfed by timeless landscapes and the animals, both real and imaginary, that inhabit them. Frontini's imagination is breathtaking, his interests vast. Juxtaposing old artistic clichés with modern reality is his best trick, exemplified in "Bold Future," in which two centaurs play badminton near nuclear towers. Best of all, he has a sense of humor, and he doesn't spare himself: In "Birth of the Great Balladeer," a young man with a guitar (Frontini as a teenager?) stands proudly, like Botticelli's "Venus," on a clam shell, this one supported by mermaids. We should be glad he went into art instead. Through January 29 at Convivium 33, 1433 E. 33rd St., 216-881-7328, www.josaphatartshall.com. -- Lewis
