A Gallery Stroll

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My weekends over the last few months have been consumed by art, art receptions, lectures, and audiobooks in the later evening. It all feels very personal and private and introspective. There’s an understanding with myself that I’m simultaneously weeding through inspiration and biding my time. The last year of my life has been a certain kind of breeze, held up almost entirely by gratitude. There is something very free about me: I’m not married; I have no children; I have no pets; I have no debt; I have a perfect credit score and fabulous health. I barely have any family anymore. My life is all my own; my own choices. I’m often asked why I’m not married. A new chapter is beckoning.  

Jim Schantz, Housatonic Morning II

She stands on a veranda overlooking a mass piece of land; lush and green, a line of forest further afield and mountains at the end of sight. There’s a breeze and a distinct smell and a sense of serenity. She doesn’t know if this is the south of France or some villa in Italy. This picture has been a part of her visualization since before she knew the term existed. Before The Secret book; before manifesting; when images were childish daydreams. 

Life has a way of getting in the way. Yet in hindsight, every domino has lined up to fall right into place. She hears the word patience, a word she knows is a virtue – a virtue she has been prodded for not having. That youthfulness was an anxious spirit. This adulthood settles one into a more patient resolve.  

When what we believe we wanted doesn’t turn out, it’s hard to understand how it was in our favor all along. Knowing one is exactly where one needs to be, and that this place was necessary to proceed takes a lot of faith in the outcome. 

If dreams do come true, why does resistance creep in? Adulthood breeds routine and thus complacency. Complacency is the bane of change. In this rut, one begins to believe they’re not allowed to have exactly what they want -or that too much time has passed. There is only one life, and there will only be regrets at the end of it. The things you didn’t do…

Jim Schantz, Housatonic Morning

Pucker Gallery, Boston, MA

BrockaA Gallery Stroll

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