In case you missed it, last week The Washington Post announced Steven Silburg as the winner of its Real Art D.C. contest. It's an honor to be the top dog in any race, but this prize is a little dubious—and not just because of the title, which evokes two reality shows that create more court jesters than kings, The Real World and Real Housewives.  Seventeen thousand Washington Post readers voted in the contest, but 75 percent of the votes were split between Silberg and runner-up Stephanie Booth. Silberg barely stayed on the island with a 200-vote margin.

While this competition was no doubt spurred by art patron Mera Rubell's December observation of D.C.'s "artists in isolation," the Post's Jessica Dawson—as the (presumed) lone judge and jury before the final round—blurred some boundaries: Should a critic also be a judge? Sure, art criticism and contest judge are subjective exercises (bound by bits of objectivity). However, being an arts writer for a major newspaper requires, at the very least, to withdraw from criticism if there is a conflict of interest. Does judging affect her objectivity for future criticism, or did past bits of criticism and show-hopping cloud her judgment regarding who was selected as a finalist? Since the goal of the contest was to "discover the Washington region's newest talents,"  I can't say she was effective at bringing new talent to the table… and in some cases she should have known better.

Of the 10 finalists, six were already familiar—if not yet fully exposed—talent. Lisa McCarty, Kristina Bilonik, and Silburg have exhibited at the larger regional nonprofits over the past few years, and a couple of them have been written up in Post pieces by Michael O'Sullivan. Joel D'Orazio's been around a lot longer. Adam Dwight has had quite a bit of buzz throughout the year, and Travis Childers was a Sondheim semifinalist in 2009.

That Keinyo White is an illustrator might create a bias against his craft from a fine-art perspective, but his selection as a finalist will broaden his audience and blur those fine art-commercial art boundaries. Recent graduates Jenny Yang and Chloe Watson (despite whatever exposure they may have had from Corcoran and MICA) and public school art teacher Stephanie Booth are also welcome newcomers to the WaPo readership.

But the contest had other problems. If you wanted to judge for yourself and traipse through the 4000-plus image entries submitted to the site, it would have taken at least 90 minutes on a DSL connection. Fast math says that each image would then get less than a one-second glance, though 50 percent of the time that was too long for any of a number of reasons: the slide was a duplicate, the work wasn't really qualified to be in the competition, or the artist was overqualified. Even submitter "Prince George" recognized his work didn't belong, stating, "there is some good art on this site. This is not one of those sets..."

To clarify, roughly half of all work entered had one suitable place: Artomatic. Perhaps it is elitist to declare that the conversation of contemporary art has no space for micro-lens floral photos and poorly rendered graphite celebrity fan art, but it is the truth. The only spaces for such work are waiting rooms and refrigerators (respectively). As for the artists who were more-than-qualified: It's sort of embarrassing that six people from Lenny Campello's top 100 (Laurel Lukaszewski, Carol Brown Goldberg, Matt Sesow, Dana Ellyn, Tim Tate, and Renee Butler), not to mention the book's author, all submitted work. And simply because they were not among Campello's hundred doesn't excuse submissions by Christopher Sims, Ryan Hill, Katherine Mann, and Trevor Young.

Of the rest that remain… well, there was a lot of academic stuff that I wouldn't be surprised to find in galleries named Apex or Pinnacle (not that that's a bad thing). But that's not to say those academic submissions weren't at least mildly interesting, especially when bookended by Obama art. Of the remaining art that was arguably decent, about 50 artists caught my eye. In the spirit of the competition, I'll give a list of 10. This is not to discredit the finalists. In fact, I don't even know if I would classify these as finalists, since I won't ruminate heavily over them. Consider this my "in addition to." Here are there usernames (some of them neglected to fill out a profile). I'll spare them less-than-constructive suggestions and snarky/snide quips to summarize their efforts:

1. dant2
2. kraghvon
3. 1armywife
4. gbdriggers1
5. chezkevito
6. topperfiona
7. billyfriebele
8. singersus
9. mahajohn
10. croft58

On the whole, the Real Art D.C. experiment contained some fun. One major criticisms of the D.C. art scene is that the Post needs to be the paper of record when it comes to the art in and around the nation's capital. Support of the local art scene by a national paper with the fifth largest readership in the country helps solidify the region as an art destination. To see the energies of Dawson and the Post invested into the region with this contest—not to mention some of chief critic Blake Gopnik's recent forays into D.C. galleries—has been welcome and refreshing. But the experiment had plenty of flaws, too—and they don't entirely belong to the Post. Some rest on the shoulders of art faculty at the two dozen or so area colleges and universities for not encouraging their talent to submit to a contest partially designed for them.

Still, if exercises like Real Art D.C. are executed enough times, and end up energizing new talent, and the Post continues to pay attention to that new talent, then maybe the museums and galleries of Washington, D.C., can stop revisiting the Washington Color School every three yearsand dusting off Gene Davis' corpse every time their gift shops need to make a buck.

"I promise not to kill him," were the vows of Dana Ellyn as she wed her longtime partner in art and life, Matt Sesow, Friday evening. Facing them down from across the Long View Gallery was her painting, "Til Death Do Us Part," which depicted a couple that closely resembled the couple, clinking glasses but hiding a knife and a vial of poison behind their backs. Nearby was "Institution of Marriage," showing a straitjacketed couple, and "Letting Go of the Fairy Tale," in which a bride flings a frog prince, rather than a bouquet, to her bridesmaids. Not your typical nuptials, for sure.

The couple of eight years has long held nothing sacred in its art, so why should the wedding have been any different? In a ceremony stripped of all tradition, and after a monthlong publicity blitz, Sesow, 43, and Ellyn, 38, wed before a crowd of friends and strangers at an opening of their latest show, also named "Til Death Do Us Part." But the wedding was almost derailed by the monster snowstorm that swept through the region Friday night. Indeed, the event was one of few not canceled because of the pelting snow, which followed guests into the gallery, soaking the floors.

The bride wore teal. Waiting for her to join him in the front of the gallery, Sesow drew some of the characters that appear in his paintings in the fog on the windows. Then, the couple stood before a crowd of more than 100 friends and strangers, waiting for the ceremony to begin. "I never thought I'd have to say this, but we're waiting for the press to get here," Ellyn said. The couple assured bystanders and video crews during the ceremony that the whole thing was "not a PR stunt." Their officiant, Jennifer Kalmanson, confirmed that the couple were indeed married after a short exchange of vows that appeared to be impromptu. Sesow choked up as he told the crowd, "I promise to keep loving her. She's taught me a lot—I guess I'm not self-taught anymore." Ellyn tearfully declared her love for Sesow, telling the crowd how odd it was for two people who express themselves so well on canvas to have to express themselves with words. Nearby, their signed posters were selling for $10 apiece.

The whole thing was done in about five minutes, when Kalmanson declared them married in the rather unceremonious manner that they preferred. But for all their swagger, Ellyn and Sesow did retain one very formal wedding tradition: They got a New York Times wedding announcement, ensuring that even the press who could not make it to their wedding due to the weather could still report the event. Then, the guests went back to admiring the paintings lambasting the institution that the couple had just joined.

Photo by Matt Dunn.

While half the town spends the weekend on wordplay (Ed. note: What do you call sledding with strangers in D.C.? Snowcial networking! I know, OK, I'm sorry), the rest of us will be hunkered down indoors, twiddling with the thermostat and checking to see whether it's June yet.

Ah, we know what you're asking: But how will the Fabulous People at City Paper spend their snow-dusted Saturday? Wonder no further, readers; below the jump, please find our respective cultural agendae for the blizz.

Andrew Beaujon: My wife rented Zombieland from Redbox, so that seems like it's on; we still have a couple Spanish movies that we haven't gotten through, plus the Almodóvar box set I got for Christmas. Obviously the kids can't see those, so we've got a couple DVDs from the library for them. And Sunday is the Super Bowl.

Jonathan L. Fischer: Lots of board games, most likely: One neighbor has been agitating for a game of Risk: Lord of the Rings Edition, while another wants to teach me Settlers of Catan. Though I'm pretty sure people who play that game are in a cult.

Ted Scheinman: Whenever a proper blizzard sets in, I'm tempted to pull a first-scene-of-La-Bohème and burn everything I've written for purposes of 1) self-flagellation and 2) warmth. I'm spared this temptation in D.C., where my apartment has decent radiant heat and no fireplace. Instead, I intend to commandeer an old projector and play unusual film selections on the wall of said apartment. Tentative choices: The Hurt Locker, for reasons patriotic; Duck Soup, for reasons gastrointestinal; and the second Godfather, because my roommate has never seen it. Also, when it's snowy, I like to read desert stories, such as these.

Sarah Godfrey: Reading: I *just* got home from a Barnes & Noble run to pick up snow day/weekend reading materials. I've got Michael Chabon's Pulitzer Prize-winning The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay and Lauren Conrad's just plain ol' winning LA Candy. Sort of a highbrow/lowbrow thing going on. Guess which one I'll read first?

Watching: Seasons 1-3 of The Wire on DVD, and when cable networks inevitably start running Goodfellas on a loop, I'll watch that, too.

Amanda Hess: This weekend, I will employ the snowfall as an excuse to consume a collection of low-brow films and television episodes that I would surely have watched regardless of the District's precipitation level. On my queue: The Lost season premiere; the latest Gossip Girl; any Jan de Bont-directed action film made available through Netflix’s watch instantly feature. And seeing as I've recently revisited both Speed and Twister... Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, here I come.

Aaron Leitko: Back in the mid-'90s—long before The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull blighted his name forever—George Lucas scored one last victory among the nerd community with his computer game imprint, LucasArts. These days the company spends most of its time picking the dry corpse of the Star Wars franchise, but back then they ruled the shelves with original titles like Sam & Max Hit the Road, Monkey Island, and Grim Fandango. But LucasArts' finest hour was the 1993 adventure game Day of the Tentacle. The premise: A gaggle of college nerds travel through time in portable toilets to stop an evil tentacle from taking over the world. Or something like that. I loved it when I was 12. I'll be spending snowmageddon firing up a bootleg version of this CD-ROM classic.

Maura Judkis: Snowed in at my Logan Circle apartment, I'll be settling in with a pot of homemade soup and a copy of artist Adam Wallacavage's book Monsters as Monsters, lent to me by artist Trevor Young. Wallacavage's work will be featured in the show "Empty Time," curated by Young, who assured me that the opening at the Fridge tomorrow night is still on, so far. Later tonight, I'll be attending "Til Death Do UsPart," the art opening/nuptials of Dana Ellyn and Matt Sesow at Long View Gallery. Thank goodness the weather won't ruin their wedding. (Full disclosure: I wrote the exhibition essay for "Empty Time.")

Louis Jacobson: I've been reading the Rosemary Wells-illustrated edition of Mother Goose nursery rhymes to my two-year-old son. Recurring activity: pointing out which of the characters are Wells' other creation, Max of Max and Ruby. Favorite rhyme: The one where the sausage comes "running after me."

Steve Kolowich: I'm going to drink Dogfish Head, watch a shitload of Weeds, and then probably compose some mediocre prose. (As should we all! -Ed.)

Photograph by Darrow Montgomery

Read the full City Lights pick here; deets below the jump.

–>THE EXHIBITION IS ON VIEW 11 A.M. TO 7 P.M. WEDNESDAY-SUNDAY TO NOV. 22 AT LONG VIEW GALLERY, 1234 9TH ST. NW. FREE. (202) 232-4788.