The Gallery of Lost Things

Brigida Brandt was the icon to talk about in the little seaside town known as Windling Cove. Her would-be mansion sat looking over the cliffs cascading down to foamy blue waters, and many a teenager had been dared to jump from such a height to resurface in the sea below. It was said Brigida often watched the adolescent charades from her veranda and wore a faint smile on her thin lips.

When the Brandt patriarch, Friedrich, passed away, his will left it up to Brigida to do what she wanted with the place. As a childless older woman, many options flitted through Brigida's thoughts: perhaps an orphanage, or a rental beach house for the snow birds, or maybe even a historical museum for Windling Cove's vast legends that involved pirates and forgotten buried treasure.

But Brigida instead decided to do one better than the museum idea: with a small curation team, she signed the papers to turn the mansion into a gallery of forgotten things. A commission notice went out in the Cove Crier for any local artists who wanted to contribute to their community through the means of the gallery; all proceeds would go to the upkeep of the place, with a portion going to the local children's hospital fund.

When Haley Mercer saw the newspaper notice, she sensed a story—and an opportunity. Freelance graphic design work had been coming in infrequent doses since the economy had tanked, and her partner Jen had been trying to push her into doing something more creative with the added downtime. Brigida Brandt's gallery could at least become a stepping stone to something greater.

Sending a resume, cover letter, and a portfolio of her art, Haley decided to throw fate to the wind and try to see if she could win over the old broad. Stranger things had happened.

As it was, Haley fully expected to be interviewed by an assistant or secretary—surely not Brigida herself. But as Haley was escorted through the still-deep-in-renovation rooms of the gallery, she soon found herself being led through an immaculate office. And there stood Brigida Brandt herself, hardly looking a day over seventy.

"It's very nice to meet you, Haley," the old woman said, clasping Haley's hand delicately. "I've looked over your portfolio, and you definitely do interesting things."

Interesting—that was a mild way of putting it. Haley's latest dabbles into design had been for the covers of heavy metal band albums, and she always worked with clients who were not afraid of her more "edgy" ideas for their concepts. In truth, it had been a lark of a kind to try and get into Brigida's brand new gallery with its posh origins and the retro feel it was likely to possess.

"I quite liked the one with the flying pig," Brigida was saying. "It was very clever."

"What did you have in mind for what I might be able to contribute to your gallery?" Haley asked, her fingers already itching to sketch out ideas for what Brigida might have in mind.

"I was thinking of wayfarers," Brigida said. "You might automatically think of pirates because of Windling Cove, but there have been other seafarers. Explorers. Adventurers. Mariners."

"Vikings," Haley added, and to her surprise Brigida's eyes lit up.

"A Viking ship," she said, as if she had never mouthed the words before. "Yes, yes, that might be very good indeed."

In this fashion, Haley Mercer was commissioned to design art of a Viking ship for a gallery run by a sentimental old woman. If anything, it would look good in her work history.

A few weeks later, Haley returned to the gallery with a pile of sketches ready to show Brigida. The old woman wore her reading glasses as she perused the different ways Haley had interpreted their discussion about seafaring history throughout the ages. But the artist left her favorite for last, just to see what Brigida might say about the design.

The sketch was done in black charcoal, a hurried attempt that Haley had nearly scrapped. A serpentine dragon protruded from the front of the boat, but unlike the examples Haley had researched this dragon was fierce in a way that seemed to make it appear as if it would jump to life at any moment. It was only a sketch, but it was one that she thought could potentially make the best piece in this portion of the gallery.

"I was thinking of something powerful," Haley said, "something that would stand the tests of time. And dragons—dragons are—"

"It's perfect," Brigida said, and Haley had to do a double-take.

"You like it?"

It was Brigida's turn to glance back at the younger woman. "If you didn't think I'd like it, then what were you trying for?"

"I—I don't know. I guess I just expected more pushback. More of a critique or reimagining or—something."

"After you've already done most of the work? Haley, I'm not an army officer yelling at you to tuck your sheets exactly perfect each time you make your bed in the morning." Brigida tapped her nails against her chin. "I almost wish it could be a sculpture rather than a painting."

"I don't mind if you use the sketch to commission someone else to sculpt something for the exhibit," Haley said.

Brigida made a "hmm" sound. "I would still like to commission the painting, if you're up for the job."

"Yes, of course," Haley said as she gathered up her sketches, the dragon-shaped Viking ship sitting right on top.

The actual painting took weeks longer than Haley had expected. Every layer of paint was meticulous, so much so that her hand cramped around the different brushes she used to get just the right effects. Jen had to come into the studio area and remind her to go to bed on more than one late night. Though freelance opportunities to create design work had begun trickling back in, Haley declined the majority because so much of her day was devoted to the painting which, though donated, would lead to many opportunities ahead if only Haley stretched out all her creative muscles for the right results.

It was a little nerve-wracking, but since when had Haley Mercer ever shied away from a challenge to her creative side?

When Haley finally delivered the painting to the gallery, Brigida said nothing as her eyes traced the final product. Haley couldn't help fidgeting with the ends of her jacket sleeves; she hadn't felt so nervous over her art since workshop critiques back in art school.

Finally, Brigida's gaze broke away from the painting and assessed Haley. "I knew I was right to put my trust in you."

Haley's was one of dozens of pieces that had been commissioned by the gallery, but she still felt like she had won a gold medal with those words alone.

The night of the gallery opening, Haley and Jen walked in arm-in-arm and followed the flow of the crowd into the different rooms with themes ranging from tropical landscapes to recreated artifacts to wardrobes through the eras. All of it was a challenge to the senses, and Haley almost didn't know where to look because so much seemed to be going on in each portion of the gallery.

That is, until she and Jen entered the area devoted to the seafaring life—and Haley's painting was the centerpiece to draw all eyes to it.

In the painting, the Viking ship seemed ready to burst out of the tumultuous ocean waves it was sailing. Storm clouds crowded the background in angry bursts, all the while the dragon persisted in its flight to cut through the current. There was no promise of a sunrise or sunset on the horizon behind the ship, a lingering aspect that might have struck a critic as cynical but to the casual viewer might have just been seen as dynamic.

Jen squeezed Haley's hand. "You did it."

Haley nodded, feeling a rush as if she were about to start bawling right then and there. "I did."

She and Jen then split to take in the gallery as much as they could even with the opening night crowd. After Haley walked through the other rooms—some detailing eras of history like the French Revolution and the American Civil War—she found herself submerged in so much art that it made her head spin. She had become so displaced in the artistic community that it was a wonder now to be among her people, her fellow contributors, who were bringing old things back to the forefront in fresh, new ways.

It was an exhilarating experience Haley wouldn't have traded for anything.

When Haley circled back to her painting, Jen came up behind her and gave her a hug. "You've done it," her girlfriend whispered. "You've got your masterpiece right here, all on display for generations to come."

Haley laughed. "Let's not get carried away here."

Jen shook her head. "Will you stop calling yourself a hack artist now? You've made it."

Haley squeezed one of her girlfriend's hands. "It's just a beginning. Just a beginning."

And through the crowd Haley found the eyes of Brigida Brandt, who offered a fond smile and raised a flute of champagne in the artist's direction. If that wasn't a cherry on top of a very nice sundae, Haley didn't know what was.

The art had spoken, and she had listened.