“I use it for storage, but the person who owned this place before I did used it as a small showroom. They blew glass, and they kept their more delicate pieces back there so kids wouldn’t get to them easily,” he said.
“Makes sense.”
“So, a few questions.”
“Okay. Shoot,” I said.
“Why do you want an art gallery?” The question caught me off guard. None of the questions I practiced in my head were going to do me any good in this scenario. I racked my brain to try and piece my answer together as images of my ex came flooding back to my mind. Memories of him telling me to stop chasing my idiotic dream and memories of him snickering at my artwork whenever I was finished. I could feel the pain of his existence wafting through my body all over again, and I had to swallow deep to keep my tears at bay.
“Everyone has a place in this world. Their life. Their passions. Their expression of art. All of it has a place. I want to find mine,” I said.
“So you want a gallery to find yourself?” the owner asked.
“No. I want a gallery because I want to show people in my life that my artwork has a place in a community that would love it for what it is.”
“What type of artwork do you specialize in?” he asked.
“Anything that sends shivers down my arms. A scene or a moment. An emotion or a dream. A painting is simply a snapshot of what moves us. But it’s the emotion behind the painting that brings it to life. I want to fill my own gallery with life.”
I could see him grinning out of the corner of my eye as I lost myself in my mind.
“If I sold you this gallery, what would you do with it?” he asked.
I panned my gaze over to him before a small grin crept across my face.
“The walls would be lined with artwork, but not that one. The wall that serves to quarter off that space would be reserved for local artists who want to showcase their work. That little room back there would be a small store. Small paint tubes and canvases and brushes. I’d want to hold art classes of all sorts. Those wine-and-paint programs, things for children, maybe therapy classes to help those struggling with depression or anxiety. I want it to be a community place. A place where people can come and enjoy, or they can come and do. May I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Why are you interviewing people to buy this property?” I asked.
“I want to make sure it’s sold to the right person. It took me years to convince this city that an art gallery could do it some good. The only reason I’m selling it is because I’m getting older and my arthritis is getting worse.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.
“It is what it is, but I won’t sell this space until I can find another gallery owner to take it. And the right one at that. It took me too long to sell this idea to the community. I’m not letting it go that easily. I’ve seen the power of art. I watched children in this area grow up as they came in and out of my shop. I’ve hired some of them to work part-time in the summers, and I taught them about all the wonderful artists of history. I can’t let that be buried. I won’t.”
His passion brought tears to my eyes. It had been so long since I’d stood in the presence of somebody who was as passionate about art as I was. I hadn’t been looking for a gallery to purchase. I wasn’t even in the position to purchase one. But the more I stood and talked with this man, the more at home I felt with it. The more he talked and the more I listened, the more I figured out that I was standing in the middle of something I didn’t know I needed.
; “I really like your vision and the path you’re on,” he said. “I’ll keep your information and give you a call. I have one more person to talk to about this place.”
“Wonderful. I hope to hear from you soon,” I said.
I took my leave and walked out. Now, I found myself hoping he would call. I still had no fucking idea how I would be able to buy a space like this, but I figured it if was meant to be I could go from there. I kept thinking about all the paintings I would hang and all the classes I could advertise. I thought about what it would be like to settle down in this area and live in my grandmother’s cabin for the rest of my life. I breathed in the fresh mountain air as I pulled my coat around my body, then I was halted in my tracks when I ran full steam into someone on the sidewalk.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” I said. “I must’ve just been in my head and not paying attention.”
I looked up at who I’d run into, and I saw my ex staring down at me.
“I see you still have that nasty habit as well,” Daryl said, grinning.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked flatly. “I thought you left.”
“I wanted to talk with you alone,” he said. “Without your boyfriend around.”
“Fiance,” I said.