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Never Open
In a small town in the hills of North Carolina not too far from the coast, my wife and I own a former country store. In my retirement, we have cashed in the value of my house in Arlington and transitioned to the remainder of our lives
The store is nothing special. Just one of those all-too-familiar non-descript country stores with a large door in the center of its façade. Two large, floor to ceiling bay windows project from either side towards the sidewalk. Through the windows, the light projects into what was once the business area of the store, now a space renovated to show art. In the center of the ground floor, two classical Greek columns rise up before splaying at the celling. The room is white, creating a welcoming tone for the visitor. The walls are lined with display cabinets.
Above the store are three rooms, our home. At the back of the shop is a group of old detached buildings. Once storerooms, these are now our studios: mine below, as I need to move in sculpture materials; hers above, where she does her mixed media and calligraphy. Above the studios perches my treasured library, a reminder of a lifetime of learning. The spiral staircase that connects the studio levels is now purely for decoration, the fire escape stairs on the outside being a more practical, although difficult in snow, entry to the upper floor. The library, reminiscent of the haunts of Gothic eccentrics, is still entered via the spiral staircase.
Today, the gallery is showing my selection of religious robes. The major piece is an early 20C Lamb of God chasuble which my wife and I purchased in Pennsylvania in 1995, before we were married. It is complemented by the other 11 chasubles and related objects purchased at the same time. The show also features the black chasuble purchased at a flea market in 1992. I think that the black chasuble, decorated with silver thread, although purchased in Paris, may actually be Russian. I was unable to have this authenticated before the show.
This is our third show.
The gallery opened with an exhibition of New Guinea primitive art brought to the US from Australia when I emigrated in 1985.
The second show was English ceramics, primarily Wedgwood, but also including Minton and Royal Doulton. The focus of the show was the way in which Wedgwood reused patterns over its 300 years of existence to produce what, at first look, appears to be unique pieces. In a separate case at the back of the room was a display of the ceramics of Raymond Loewy. Loewy was a French immigrant to the US who became one of America’s major art deco designers, defining the signature Air Force One blue, white and chrome livery. In a touch of irony, he also designed the tableware, plates and cutlery for the French Concorde aircraft, Wedgwood and Royal Doulton providing the crockery for the British version. The Loewy ceramics on show are however German, by Rosenthal.
The religious art exhibition comes down at the end of the month after 4 months on show. We will then have only one month to set up the next show. At times, it seems like the time to set up a show is more effort than the show itself.
The next show will be Australian aboriginal art, followed by a show of book illustration.
At some point, maybe next year, my wife and I will exhibit our own art in our own gallery, an indulgence.
We are also thinking of exhibiting World War I silk postcards that we purchased at the DC Antique Photo and Postcard Show this weekend.
The exhibition room faces onto the main street of the sleepy town, the morning sun raking into the front room makes the objects glow with pride as they address the local villagers as they walk past, their day beginning, as they make their way to nowhere in particular.
Over the main door is the name of the gallery: Never Open. For the gallery is Never Open. Beside the door is the customary sign stating the hours of business. It reads Monday: closed. Tuesday: closed, Wednesday: closed. Do I need to continue? For the gallery is always closed.
Unlike the Hotel California where you can checkout but never leave, at Never Open, you can look from outside, but never enter.
The gallery does not exist yet. It is still just a concept. It is a dream that may never exist. As a concept, you can neither see nor enter the gallery. When the gallery is realized, you will be able to see but never enter. A memory of what was or what could be.
So this is my proposal for a gallery, an exhibition space.
Or is the proposal itself the exhibition, a concept?
Read the proposal. Place it on the ground. Light a match.
You decide the future.
Set it on fire. It will become Never Will Be, an unfulfilled proposal.
Blow out the match. The dream of Never Open, a gallery, will survive as the possible.
You decide.
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