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Winter at 701 CCA

During the winter break of 18-19, I interned at 701 CCA. 

Hannah Shepard, being the only paid employee and the director, is the mom and the dad of the art center. Everything 701 CCA related is her baby, and I am so glad I could be a part of the journey during the two too-short months. 

There were a few things going on during this time period. The gallery was closed to the public for a period of time so that we could all deinstall the exhibiting items and put the new ones in. That was my favorite time. It was a process that transforms a space from telling one story to another. Mood and emotions changed as the objects, and even lightings changed. 

I had my best afternoon here in the gallery during that time. 

It was the first week of the new semester, and I was scheduled from 11-2. The installation was about 80 percent finished. During the shift there was plenty of physical and mental labor-- moving, painting and hanging objects around to follow Janet's aesthetics. I am not an artistic person. When the shift was over I stayed in the gallery, while Janet retreated to her loft and Hannah to her office. 

I pulled a chair to the center of the gallery, at a spot where beams of sunlight sprinkle into the room through the window cover. I opened the book I have been reading throughout the break and situated my butt down. (It was Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential. RIP the legend) The room was wide and bright. There was just enough exhibiting items in there to fill the space yet to crowd it. I was sitting amongst Janet's works, which were telling the story from an era ago, reading. Gradually I felt blending into the space and time between the floor and ceiling and the two walls. I stood up, fetched my phone and started playing the how i met your mother playlist. My phone found home by my foot, and the book kept me from distracting it. 

Cue noise-- Tom the building manager was showing some people the venue. Perhaps another happily engaged couple... I know not. Chitchats, small talks, and laughters scatter around the building but ruthlessly blocked by the gallery walls and doors. My walls and doors! Muffed conversations came my way, but the space in between was too distanced to reach. I like it that way-- things are going on loud and about just a few feet away from me while the wall and space cushioned much of it. 

Hours went by and the last page was flipped. The exhibiting objects got their peace and quiet back. They were probably celebrating the exit of the intruder.

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