Like zombies, we quietly walked down the hall, collecting dirt on the bottom of our cold clammy feet. The only sound emanating from us was the smack of our feet when they connected with the hard tiled floor. Our pants and shirts breathing as we mindfully glided along. The art gallery, our destination, seemed to be fresh and new. Everything virgin white. “Do not touch” was screaming at me in every direction. Each picture was beautiful and flawless. The watercolors, photographs, colored pencils, sculptures and abstract designs portrayed a special unique feeling. Probably precisely what the artist’s wanted. They each sold their souls to their work. Each item, and there were almost two dozen of them, took me to the exact place and time that the creature was present. It was as if I was in the background watching them create their work from scratch. I could sense the time and thought put into the wood chosen to create Labyrinth. The shop she might have used to pour hours of sweat and labor into each detail. I could imagine being on those country roads, that were portrayed in each photograph, and smelling the fresh air and feeling the cool breeze just as the photographer did. Each person displaying their inner most desires and thoughts for everyone to see. The experience was wonderful and mindfully carried out.
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