As you can infer from the last post, art galleries are cool places to me. If I were smarter, I'd go to the Cleveland Museum of Art every single week, and look at maybe three artworks each time. I'd really study them, and think about them, and hear what they have to say. I would try not to read the wall labels till the art itself had said its peace.
Typically, what hangs in galleries is regarded as fine art. This is considered different from what I do (illustration) because fine art tends to be more "for art's sake," while illustration is often "for book's sake" or "for magazine article's sake" or "for advertising's sake."
Now, some fine-art snobs denigrate illustration, and I'm not going to get into why I think that's dumb. Let me just say that it's possible to love fine art and love illustration, and that great illustration is better than mediocre so-called fine art for turning people into art lovers. Indeed, illustration in children's literature is the first art many people are exposed to in their lives, and therefore might set a person up to be a lover of all kinds of art later in life.
I love illustration best when it does things that aren't easily done in real life, like Wile E. Coyote hanging in mid-air off the edge of a cliff. (I love it less, and sometimes not at all, when it looks like a drawing of a photograph.)
I love illustration when seams and roughness and peculiarities of perception are evident in the work itself. I love it when it's perfect and complex and highly rendered, but also when it's childlike and naive.
Finally, I love the democratic nature of illustration. It comes into our houses via cereal boxes and postcards and books and magazines. It doesn't ask us to wait till wine-and-cheese hour to spend time with it. It's self-assured enough to say "Look at me!" but humble enough to say "No cover charge!" And the best illustration, like the best fine art, doesn't yield everything on first glance. It rewards us for spending time with it.