Isalos Fine Art

So here we are, late in March. Stonington's main drag remains dirty with sand and salt left by plow trucks, and as the cars cruise back and forth, clouds of dust linger in the air. Most days lately I've noticed a handful of shiny cars with out of  state plates parked out there. It's mystifying how they get here with their car's shine so intact. Yes, we've heard of those buildings you drive through that clean your car for you, but we're a long, dusty drive from anything like that.

We heard that it's spring, and I guess it must be true. It's been above freezing  for awhile, and the daylight lingers long enough that you feel sort-of guilty to be ready for that cocktail when it isn't even dark yet. Yesterday we had enough gallery visitors that we lost track of how many (it gets tough for us when you can't count them on two hands).  

There's something about this time of year though, that feels neither here nor there. It isn't exactly winter anymore, and yet it isn't so nice out that you feel like running barefoot through the fields of whatever. I hear people say that they can't complain, but... and then they talk about moving to Mexico or Alaska or who knows where. The Opera House is closed a few weeks for maintenance. People take leaves of absence from the island and it's hard to remember who's around and who isn't and when everyone will be around. The gumball
machine at the corner store that dispenses
anti-depressants is empty.

But last night we went to a party, and furniture artists from Wales and Australia were there, critiquing and praising our host's work. We looked at paintings and talked about  important stuff as well as smalltalk. We hung out with the cat and  the dogs, and at some point when it was pretty late, we all rushed out the doors simultaneously so as to not be the last ones to leave. The night was starry and clear, the harbor emanating a dark film noir stillness.

The good news is that the art is flowing. We've visited studios and seen the new work that we'll soon have in the gallery. Sure, in more perfect climates, the pretty people are sitting outside sipping their drinks, admiring the fine view, toasting their cleverness for being in such a place and living such a life, but we're getting better work done here, due in part, to our moody climate. Over the next few days, I'll be showing you some of that new work.