One more thing to fix
Nº 017
Last week was a day of meetings at the gallery. Not the worst kind, but still draining. We spent most of it planning the year ahead at the gallery.
Art shows. Music shows. A few collaborations with groups that feel aligned in values and pace. Conversations about dates, budgets, calendars, and who does what. Notes taken, crossed out, rewritten. By the end, my attention felt thin and spent.
This is the work behind the work. The part no one sees when they walk through the door on opening night.
For the past few days, I’ve also been slowly moving through rolls of film. Some of them have been sitting in cameras for a year or longer. I’ve forgotten what’s on them. A parking lot. A building at dusk. Who knows.
I want the cameras empty so I can load fresh film and start again without carrying unfinished business forward.
On Friday, our friend Ana introduced us to a gallery owner named Christo from San Francisco who was in town for a visit. We talked in the afternoon, standing in our own gallery surrounded by local art. I like what he’s doing. Ana has a show there in August, and we plan to attend.
I keep thinking I need to get to the city more. Not to chase anything. Not to prove anything. Just to remember there’s more happening beyond my usual view. Other rooms. Other conversations. Other ways of doing the same work.
Yesterday, the pilot light on the hot water heater went out. I didn’t notice until this morning. Cold water. Immediate and unforgiving, making a cold morning colder.
Is this what home ownership looks like? Small failures. Quiet maintenance. One more thing to fix before you can move on.
I relit the pilot light and waited. The water began to heat up, and I took a lukewarm shower, thinking about unfinished rolls of film and a to-do list already filling up.
cp out.