There's no shotgun in sight, but the most headlong marriage between business and the arts in these parts in some time is the new gallery venture by the Hartford Building. So far the passion is more naive than calculated, which might just lead to a more lasting union than otherwise

The idea is simply this: the Hartford Building lobby, which has one of the busiest captive walk-through patronages downtown, has been converted into a 1,000 square-foot gallery with the addition of benches and large planters (live flowers, at that) and almost literally opening the door to any artist whose offerings please the building management. Intrigued as the businessmen-adventurers are with this pitch for cultural status, the point is to give the building an arty personality as a means to attract more sophisticated tenants for longer stays. If it works, the plan will embrace other Futterman Properties spread around the land.

At first glance, the more seasoned art buff will wince at the thought of what a bear the boys have so gleefully grabbed by the tail. Only a rather nebulous panel of consultants separates the management from the onrushing tidal wave of mediocrities, fakers and other esthetic have-nots. Once the first wave of enthusiasm has dried out the hard way, however, it just might be successful in implanting exhibits of modest qualities ($500 is the top price tag now permissible) defiantly in the middle of the market place.

To date, its trial-and-error groping for an image and point of view has only grabbed hold of the likes of Lea Steinwasser (who's pushy self-therapy fed by a troubled past is depressingly inbred) and Marvin Sigel (who is as wantonly prolific as composer Darius Milhalid and often as emptily polyphonic). This won't do over the long haul, of course, but the management chirpily notes that the public seems to like the stuff. Be that as it may, the more experienced denizens of the art community scan the venture with interested concern and bid it godspeed toward a more meaningful future.

Elsewhere, life goes on about as usual meaning until the roof falls in Dallas Museum of Fine Arts is accelerating its toils in behalf of the forthcoming ‘Arts of Man’ takeover, due Oct. 6 with the opening of the 1962 State Fair of Texas. By its very generalized nature, the survey can at best only amount to a hop, skip and broad-jump through the history of man's arts, but some choice items can be anticipated.

Dallas Museum for Contemporary Arts has administered itself another wound of misrepresentation in ‘Dallas Collects,’ current through Sept. 16. The show is no such thing, of course, but a sampling of the collections of Mrs. Thomas W. Blake Jr. (DMCA's continuing president), Mr. and Mrs. James H. Clark and Mr. and Mrs. John D. Murchison (DMCA financial pillars all). What there is are mostly tastefully sound purchases, (mostly under the guidance of director Douglas MacAgy, whose true inclinations seem to be academic sleuthing and agenting for status-hungry buyers) handsomely installed.

There is a pivotal nucleus of 12 early Mondrians eminently worth the time of even the non-historians, plus some cherishable works by Monet, Pissarro, Redon, Kandinsky, Oli Sihvonen, Stamos, Albers and others, plus a stunning Jimmy Ernst, two intoxicating Hayters. It's a heady lot for the most part technically skilled, artistically expressive, consistently tasteful if not for all tastes. It does not necessarily float its owners into the national contemporary arts swim perhaps, but it does point the way in due course.

Elsewhere, the new season is only stirring and not yet visible, though Harry Z. Lawrence Galleries will be first out with a one-man exhibition of so-called ‘time-space’ paintings by Judson Briggs, the American who has been ensconced for years in Mexico. Neiman Marcus is still rounding up all manner of Oriental objects for its forthcoming Far Eastern Fortnight, but Nye Galleries has been forced to postpone for a bit its projected opener devoted to the latest works by San Antonio's Cecil Casebier.

Rual Askew