Following Along

This week has been much like last week was. Whatever force is guiding me, I feel as though I am merely following along. Ideas come to me from out of nowhere, things are put in front of me that make no sense, and then five minutes or two hours later, something will dawn on me and I’ll remember what it was I just saw and pay attention.

The painters begin painting today. Two of them, two completely different directions. Randy the painter will begin painting the gallery, and Doug is set up to start painting in his studio. He has also set up an area in the garage with his flat files and an easel so he has a place to paint larger watercolors.

He is inspired by the potential of collaberation. Years of ideas are flowing out of him. Doug has always been committed to lifelong learning. He loves to learn. He listens to the artists we’re interviewing and he is filled with ideas about things he wants to do or try or learn about. He walks around our house and says, “you know, things like this. We could . . .”

I spent yesterday with Micki, who has worked in the gallery in it’s former iteration for fifteen years. And years of ideas are flowing from her as well. She is cautious, I think holding back so as not to overstep what she considers her bounds. But from time to time she’ll get very enthusiastic about something and let on that she has wanted to do something like this for so long, or she always thought something would be a good idea.

I become more and more inspired by the input I’m getting and also by the name. The possibilities for marketing are endless. Second Street Art Market fits the image I have in my mind of the space like a glove—who I want us to be in the community, how I want people to respond to us. The possibilities for merchandising are likewise endless. In the summer there is a farmer’s market on Saturdays a block away from us on Second Street. In front of the gallery there is a garden with a grassy area, benches and some sculpture. We could set up the tent Doug has used for art shows and not only have artists outside to draw attention, but make it an event. The artists could be working and doing demonstrations, have projects for kids to work on—it will be as necessary to stop at the art market as it is to visit the farmer’s market on Saturday morning.

I was sitting here imaging a beautiful summer Saturday, with all of this taking place. In my mind, there is an artist—a recording artist—set up like Syd and Patrick were at our house this summer, playing guitar and singing, signing and selling their CDs. Thad, a potter, has a potting wheel set up where kids can watch and maybe even get a little messy. Doug is painting Mt. Hermann which we have a picture perfect view of.

And then . . . I actually laugh out loud because I imagine what I will be doing. As emotional as I get about things, I’ll probably be walking around crying. I guess people will get used to it. “There she goes again,” they’ll say. Strangers will say, “Why is she crying?” And someone will answer, “This is her dream, she gets a little emotional about it.” Or people will simply think I’m batty. I should probably try not to walk around crying.