On a recent balmy August night, I had the pleasure of discovering a cutting-edge public light sculpture in Jersey City by Norm Francoeur, titled "Electric Lady Jane." The work is attached to an ordinary parking garage at the intersection of Ninth and Erie streets. It consists of gold, shimmering strips that resemble a Christmas tree garland topped off by a radio tower-like beam of changing, multi-colored light. Tucked underneath this phalanx of glimmer, a touching, glowing heart flickers as a seemingly tender afterthought. Supposedly, if you tune your car radio to 106.7 Lite FM, the light in the tower pulsates to the beat of the music. I was amazed with the piece, which transformed an ordinary street corner into a happening, but I was surprised to be the only one on hand viewing it.

Well, it was 9 p.m. on a Sunday. Still, one would think that at least a tiny group might be gathered, especially since there was a write-up about the exhibit in the local paper that week. Pondering the sculpture alone, being especially moved by the flickering heart, the silence of the public space I was in became a critical part of the work for me.

So did my thoughts about the residents of the neighborhood. How overworked and busy they must be not to have the time to appreciate art, especially with the morphing of the 40-hour working week into 60-plus hours since the Republicans crippled the labor movement in the 1980s. I also speculated whether yuppie striver types could care less about a unique, groundbreaking work of art in their community. My wonderings led me conclude that those submerged in the silence of poverty or the silence of anti-intellectual, middle class consumerism - both victims of mass public schooling that, instead of teaching art, destroys the desire to learn with a curriculum drill geared to high stakes testing - can hardly be blamed for failing to notice or care about a fresh public artwork in their midst.

And the philistines in the luxury condominiums? It's possible that they, too, are victims of the disease "business major-itis."

Keep in mind that the rise of the business major, who skimps on the knowledge of art and literature, once the hallmark of an educated person, to make room for soul-deadening lessons in cutthroat marketing and outfoxing pesky government agencies like the EPA, is still a recent phenomena. Going back a generation or two, most of the big shots on Wall Street knew their Shakespeare.

Thinking there might be a better turnout for another public artwork on display that night, titled "Thrown Upon the Wall: Shadows on Scrim," I meandered over to the Powerhouse Arts District on First Street - for yet another lonely viewing experience. This time I wasn't completely isolated; a homeless woman and a stray cat were roaming in the vicinity.

And yet, my solitary art encounters in Jersey City inspired hope for the simple fact that such innovative art is being made on this side of the Hudson River. Perhaps if more people dialogue with others about Hudson County's hidden art treasures at authentic community spaces like Victory Hall, Grace Church, or the Symposia Bookstore, we'll create a buzz about our local arts scene that makes even the jaded business major curious. Electing more art-savvy politicians who understand the connection between art and the public good would also be a big step forward.

Could you imagine people lining up a day in advance for tickets to see Brecht in Hoboken or Jersey City, like cultivated New Yorkers are now doing in Central Park?

And isn't it an embarrassment that hum-drum suburban towns like Ridgefield Park in Bergen County have their own independent film cinema and Hudson County, with all its "gold coast" pretensions to sophistication, still has none? - John Bredin

John Bredin is a frequent contributor. Comments and dialogue welcome at jfbredin@hotmail.com