This gallery’s setup is complicated for most installations, but with difficulty comes the opportunity for creativity.
The circulation feels tense and stifled. Too many accessory tables with floral arrangements that should be in the banquet space, not the art space. The statement piece peeks out from the side of the entryway in an unintentional way. The journey of discovery is choked by improper editing.
The best spaces are the ones you don’t notice around you. When everything inside feels as natural as taking shade beneath a tree. The curator seems aware of this, as they are still rearranging what should have been done before catering arrived.
Another worker drags a vase into a main walking path, and my eye twitches. “They said those should line up against the front wall by the lights, not at pass-throughs,” I tell them. I’m lying, butwho gon’ check me, boo? They believe me, calling another worker over to remove the other offending vase, my eye calming with the path no longer obstructed. I sneak away before I get caught.
The art director stands in front of the piece, tracing her lower lip with the knuckle of her index finger, staring as if the painting is speaking to her. “I hate it. I’m not sure why,” she muses to the contractors beside her.
While the answer circles in my head, clear as day, it’s not appropriate for me to say.When has that ever stopped me?
“Excuse me.”
The director looks at me in surprise. She gives Meryl StreepinTheDevil Wears Pradavibes with her silver pixie and theframeless glasses she dangles from her grasp. She looks me up and down with the same discernment she gave the canvas. “Can I help you?”
“I was walking from the entryway, and I have some thoughts that may help you.”
“Oh, do you?” Exactly the condescension I expected.
She likely thinks a server is beneath her—an uneducated, unrefined civilian incapable of seeing a vision as grand as hers. Little does she know, the obscure degree-life combo I have is, in a rare moment, prime for this situation.
I don’t let her intimidate me. “If you look from the entrance, you’ll feel what is off. The path toward this piece is saying where it wants to be.”
Her eyes narrow for a moment, then she nods and walks with me in silence to the front. I hold on to my confidence. What’s the worst she can do? Laugh at me? Say no? Have me fired for my audacity? I don’t work for her.
I guide her into place, and her chin lifts with understanding. “It wants to be on the other wall,” she says.
“Yes.”
A nudge of her head tells me to follow her back to the painting. She frames her hands toward the wall I suggested.
I explain, “This wall is smaller and seems less important, but the discovery of it once you get here—”
“Gives it the emphasis it begs for,” she finishes my sentence.
“Exactly.”
As she directs the contractors to move the painting and adjust the lighting, my vision for the setting and her approval come to fruition.
She gestures with the glasses in her hand. “These flower vases need to go as well.”
That’s what I said!“There’s space between the light fixtures at theentrance.”
She turns to look and nods. “Perfect. You have a good eye,” she says. “What was your name?”
“Ambrielle.”Not Amberlike these loons keep calling me.
“How memorable.” I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or if she’s one of those creative executives who doesn’tdocompliments. Again, she assesses me with a scrutinous gaze, making my catering uniform feel like sheer underwear. “Thank you for your input. We both have work to finish before the doors open.”
I’m dismissed. “It was great meeting you.” I try to continue whatever relationship could come of this. I did help her fix the whole exhibit, after all.
She nods and returns to directing.
~
Liem and Keisha seem to be having fun together, even though neither of them gives a singular fuck about the exhibit. They came for me and the food, and they haven’t gotten enough of either. I keep weaving through the crowd in a way that will get me to them, but the last three times, my tray was empty before I made it that far. The coordinators didn’t plan for people to come hungry, I guess.
On my next lap, I swing behind a group of patrons, pretending I don’t hear when they call to me. Keisha’s face lights up when she spots what’s on my tray.
