Last night the Westport Arts Center opened its latest exhibition: “Home.” It’s an intriguing collection of paintings and drawings that — pleasantly and darkly, familiarly and abstractly — touch upon more than a dozen artists’ conceptions of home.
So I started thinking of mine.
I wandered through the crowded gallery. I searched for answers. But I couldn’t figure out what “home” meant to me.
Then I stepped outside, onto the patio. I looked across the foggy Saugatuck River, at the bright lights sparkling downtown in defiance of all the bad stuff going on everywhere in the world. And I got it.
“Home” is a place where hundreds of people gather in a small gallery on a Friday night. They enjoy good art, free wine, and the company of very interesting people. They value creativity, they relish ideas, they understand that even — especially — when times are tough, art sustains and nourishes us all.
Home is my town. Our town. Home is this town.