night of 2/21/2012

I go to a room in the back of the house, looking for a place to hang my pictures. I find a room that ought to make a nice gallery: well lit by windows, white, nice wood trim. I discover that it's full of Dad's paintings. He must have forgotten to take them with him, as he did all the other paintings in the house, when he moved out and my family moved in. Some of the pictures are quite good. I begin taking them down and laying them on the floor. One big one, the one I noticed first, and liked, an abstract collection of dark moody shapes collected into a central mass on a dim background of sky, I notice is in three separate pieces, painted on wood, that I lay carefully so as not to scrape. Then I move on, further back and deeper into the house (which apparently is massive) to another door which slides open at the touch of a button, to reveal another gallery, expansive enough to be a small museum. I don't know whether this will also house paintings, or will be empty.