I spent several hours today at the gallery in Ridge Spring. It has been well over a month since I've taken a turn as "gallery associate," keeping the place open for visitors. Although I would not have not gone to Alaska or not have spent generous time with family (and I'd depart within the hour if given half a chance), I find I've missed the place.
Much has changed. A new sign on the school building-turned-gallery, for example. A pretty but vicious-looking vine tendrilling its way through the front shrubbery and along the handicap ramp. Paint and a new (to us) mirror in the restroom.
But, it's the same, too. Familiar art. Welcoming wicker chair in the porch. Steady traffic on highway 23 and the coming and going of Ridge Spring's personnel to the maintenance building next door, an array of vans, golf carts, pickup trucks.
Mostly, though, what's familiar is the building's restful feel, restful not always having been a primary characteristic of the recent weeks, And then, there's the afternoon thunderstorms, the rooms, even with their huge windows, receding into gloom.