Art on the walls of cafes, restaurants and retail spaces is difficult to review because it is rarely curated professionally and is always challenged by the layout and aesthetics of the venue itself.

Though "Salon Mode" at Kissaten Coffee Bar is no different, it benefits from an approach that is as brutally democratic as an antipersonnel mine. Here some of our local art stars mingle with artists who are still at the pre-emerging stage. Whether the work kills, wounds or whizzes by harmlessly depends on whether people will look up from their lunches, textbooks, lattes and laptops.

The show is formally organized by a size constraint, and its widely varying quality is not necessarily related to the artist’s degree of experience. What follows is a collage of what the show looks like if, like me, you stood in the space for a long time and made Kissaten customers slightly uncomfortable by leaning over them to inspect a work or read its label.

Garid Chapman illustrated a colorful graffiti-esque lobster monster devouring a fellow denizen of its ecosystem with a sticky tongue. Jamisen Cooper’s own navel appears in ceramic, fired to look like a Japanese teacup. Andrea Charuk made paper from kapok-seed fibers, successfully evoking the moon’s reflection in water. Remi Mead painted girls with cat ears. Lisa Shiroma painted a fuzzy bunny next to Karen Brizendine’s funky dude eating toast in a bathtub.

Lawrence Seward provided a Rorschach test whose eroded wood surface and indeterminate figure complements Dave Randall’s dark and mysterious etchings. Something is going on between the graphic flow of ink in Heather Scott’s "Kanikapila" and a rectangular maze that finds freedom in a sand-colored field in Jason Teraoka’s "Berlin."

Jared Yamanuha’s long photographic exposure turns the word "Honolulu" into a rainbow in a starless night sky. Ikaika Akana made utterly sarcastic and faux kid’s art with photo paper, gesso and colored markers. It features laser-eyed fish attacking great weather, unicorns and an angry hipster, and it almost works.

Some casualties that fell victim to poor lighting, positioning, height or me not wanting to be rude to people minding their own business: Aaron Padilla’s piece (near a blue monster being harassed by a yellow monster) is too light. It’s high on the wall with a Chloe Kang charcoal work, some Marika Emi abstracts, umbrellas reflected in water, and a completely illegible brown work.

The sculptures of Gideon Gerlt, Juvana Soliven, Maura Takeshita, Corinne Kamiya, Anthony Watson and Ashley Huang are almost lost among the cafe merchandise. Among them, Daniel Stratis channels vintage Frank Sheriff, using chimps instead of frogs.

More fragments that jumped out at me: Martin Holzgang’s apocalyptic pastries, the cop who chased the Hamburglar, Cody Naganuma’s little collages of photo fragments, thread and paper, Russel Sunabe’s toad on a white road, Darold Ramelb’s moth earring, one of Nicole Naone’s masses, two Ryan Higa sculptures, a kiss of death from Dana Paresa, Mat Kubo’s love for Tae Bo and Ian Davidson’s love for Frida Kahlo.

I should mention that Trish Brubaker recycles, Kelli Maeshiro’s illustration falls between fashion and manga, Rex Vlcek creates landscapes via close-up photography and John Koga (mentor for at least half a dozen artists in this show) represents.

"Salon Mode" is a symbol of solidarity in our arts community, demonstrating that its members can come together for a single scream of "We’re here!" with the backing of a commercial establishment that sees the benefit of supporting that message.

But let’s be honest. Obviously work that might be controversial or potentially offensive would affect the host’s bottom line. Even the artwork showing in the Academy of Art’s Spalding House cafe is relegated to second-class citizenship when compared with the stuff in the actual galleries.

However, nothing beats pulling for an underdog. Shows backed by luxury establishments and lifestyle brands are ranked higher than those backed by beer or coffee and bagels, so there is something significant in the gesture of an established artist being willing to share the wall with those who haven’t quite yet found their way into our system.

A flier notes this is the first year of "Salon Mode." Let’s hope that there are indeed subsequent installments, and that future shows develop a curatorial vision or theme that can produce more than accidental synergies between participating artists.