Well, after a month of being closed, I'm back at my Saturday afternoon gig: working the gallery. It felt good to get here with my hands full with a latte, water, lunch, with my too-full backpack sliding precariously down my arm as I stood on the stone steps trying to unlock this old, brick building. And upon entering I was greeted by a smell that can only exist in places like this-- a former library that was built a hundred years ago and is now inhabited by artists. It is this smell of dust and dark wood and old plaster walls and art that instantly brings me comfort--every time.
Down stairs it is warm in my little corner studio--but upstairs, where I now sit, it is cold, cold, cold. Light floods through large windows, the glass rattling with every truck and bad muffler that goes by. I listen to Cuban music to warm me up from the inside. As new faces come in I am each time amazed by the incredible characters that inhabit this town. This place draws them out from where ever they hide. Maybe it's being surrounded by art that opens the space for such satisfying conversation. I don't know--but whatever it is, this place is a little piece of Saturday heaven. I'm glad to be back.
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