As briefly mentioned in my introduction post, I recently returned from a lengthy international backpacking trip. For seven beautiful months I traded business casual for dirt-bag chic and enjoyed what I like to think of as one long and glorious lunch break. Since July 2010, I have been dutifully fulfilling an important societal role as the anonymous stranger reading a book at the coffee shop at 2pm on a Tuesday. I report for duty slowly and sometimes in sweatpants. I am a cog in the unemployed wheel – a member of the obnoxious sea of mid-day loungers you pass en route to the office. I am the one who encourages you to think: “What in the world do these people do for a living? How do they have time to sip that brewed coffee with such lingering eloquence?”
In response to these questions, let me start by saying that it’s not always easy out here on the cafe patio. Sure, the first seven months were glorious. I counted days by countries and people-watched until sundown. But, in January, my funds began to dwindle and the tide of reality pulled me back home. For six unrelenting weeks I’ve been humbled senseless by the darker, surlier side of the unemployment coin. As it turns out, Craigslist trolling is a rough substitute for international travel, and as the days pass, coffee shops begin to look more like purgatory than paradise. There are moments when the caffeine hits a little too strong and a hedgehog named Panic begins somersaulting in my chest. Suddenly, I can hear the tick of every passing wristwatch reminding me that the escape from my vocational indecision can’t last forever.
This was the exact state I found myself in last Friday afternoon. My mother, in a remarkable display of crisis intervention, suggested that I expose myself to natural sunlight and accompany her to Sellwood. Often described as an “anything goes, all are welcome” sort of neighborhood, Sellwood is home to many of Portland’s finest antique shops, food vendors, and art galleries. Feeling as though my Converse had been cast in concrete, I shuffled slowly down 13th Avenue. A few blocks later, the clouds of self-pity parted long enough to reveal Love Art! Gallery. As an aspiring stained glass artist, I was immediately drawn to the glass work in the window and decided to take a look inside this funky white and purple house.
Within moments I was greeted by co-owner Heather Love and her sixteen-year-old dog. Also present that afternoon was the work of over sixty different local artists. Slack-jawed and silent, I took a few minutes to marvel at the artwork before bombarding Heather with questions. Heather gestured with a sweeping hand motion and proudly stated that 85-90% of her gallery’s art is produced by female artists. She encouraged me to play the drum in the corner and explained that the “sculptured sound” is made from a recycled propane tank. Sensing my excitement, Heather suggested that I drop by Love Art! during the first Friday of every month for a free live music performance. Although Heather works with glass, she features only a few of her own pieces due to the time constraints of running a family-owned business – and what a business it is. Love Art! showcases a wide variety of mediums with an emphasis on quality and originality. My mom, who has been prowling around the Portland art scene for an undisclosed number of years, was thrilled by Love Art!’s unique and creative selection.
Needless to say, Love Art! removed the [feeling of] lead from my legs, and – judging from the connection I felt with the gallery – used it to create yet another masterpiece. According to Heather’s business partner, Ruby Campbell, “We wanted to create a unique, welcoming and beautiful gallery where people could relax and enjoy the true beauty of art.” To this, I say: Thank you, and mission accomplished.