I’m Going to Have a Little Art Gallery
On planning, sharing art, and a little art gallery on South Walnut Street
A few years ago, a dear friend put a Little Free Library in her front yard. She is an elementary school teacher, and she wanted to make books easily available to people in her neighborhood. It was a simple thing, really. A small structure filled with books, freely offered to anyone who happened by. She was so thoughtful in choosing the books, the care she put into curating the selections, stamping inside each with her personal library stamp before she placed it in her library. I was deeply touched by all of it.
There was something about that little library that felt bigger than its size. It was a gift to her neighborhood. An invitation to stop, look, take something home, perhaps leave something for someone else. Somewhere in seeing what she had created, another idea began to form.
What if there were a little place like that for art?
Not a traditional gallery. Not somewhere you needed to have the perfect portfolio or understand the complexities of the larger art world. Even thinking of yourself as an artist can be intimidating. I just wanted a little place where art could be seen, encouraged, shared, discovered, and enjoyed freely.
I tucked the idea away. At the time, I didn't have the right place for it, and life had plenty of other demands on me. But I knew that if I ever found myself in the right situation, I would like to make a little art gallery of my own.
Then we decided to move to Colville, Washington.
Once we had bought our house, I remember saying, “I'm going to have a little art gallery.” There was finally a place for this idea I had been carrying around. I had the space, and perhaps just as importantly, I had reached a point in my life when I could give the idea the time and attention it needed.
As I began doing what I always do when an idea starts becoming a plan, researching, imagining, learning, and figuring out how such a thing might actually come together, I discovered that other people had been dreaming along similar lines. I found the Free Little Art Gallery movement, or FLAG.
One of the galleries that helped spark the movement was created by Seattle artist Stacy Milrany during the isolation of the pandemic. Her Free Little Art Gallery opened in December 2020, inspired in part by her love of Little Free Libraries and by her own experience making and sending small pieces of art as a way of offering light and connection during that difficult time.
The idea spread, and today little galleries can be found in communities around the world.
Finding FLAG felt like the little idea I had tucked away belonged to a much larger conversation about art, accessibility, generosity, and connection. I wasn't simply inventing something for the end of my front walk. I could become part of a community of people already finding their own ways to share joy and put art out into the world.
A Little Art Gallery on South Walnut Street
Art and community have crossed paths throughout much of my life. Years ago, I taught art at an elementary school. I was also fortunate enough to serve on a board whose purpose was to bring art to the children in our county, and together we created the Children’s Art Festival in my hometown. Some of my happiest memories from those experiences were of watching children create for the simple joy of creating. And quite often, they proudly gave it away from their open, sharing hearts.
My refrigerator still displays artwork given to me by the young people in my life. Those drawings bring such happiness to me, not because they are technically accomplished works of art, but because somebody made something and then chose to share it with me. There is something powerful in that exchange. Sharing something from your heart can do as much for the person giving it as it does for the person receiving it.
That idea sits at the heart of what has become Little Seasons Gallery on South Walnut Street.
This project feels more personal than the community art projects I've been involved with before. I'll be able to share some of my own work here, but more importantly, I hope to create space for other people's work too. I love my new community, and Little Seasons feels like one small way I can build connections here and give something back.
From Imagining to Making
At the moment, Little Seasons exists mostly on paper. There are drawings and measurements, materials lists and construction plans. I've thought about windows and doors, a little metal roof, lighting, signs, how artwork will be displayed, how people will use the Art Exchange, and even how the gallery will change with the seasons.
I've planned its first exhibitions for 2027. I've created Instagram and Facebook profiles, and pages for it on my website. I've made concept renderings so I can see how this little building might look when it is finally standing near the end of our front walk. For me, none of this is separate from making it.
This is how I make things real.
I've always worked this way, and not only with art. Whether preparing for a test, entering a competition, building a house, or working toward something I couldn't quite reach yet, the process has been much the same. Research. Draw. Make lists. Work through details. Make the idea concrete enough to see the way forward.
Sometimes I also need to make it concrete enough that someone else can see it. In this case, that someone is my husband.
Having an actual plan is rather helpful when you are announcing that you intend to put a tiny art gallery in the front yard. The general design is now settled, materials are beginning to come together, and soon the drawings will give way to sawdust.
What I Hope Happens There
I can already imagine people discovering Little Seasons. I hope a child leaves a tiny drawing and comes back later to discover that someone has taken it home. I hope someone walking past stops for a moment because something inside catches their eye. I hope an artist who has never shown their work anywhere before sees one of our Calls for Art and thinks, Maybe I could do that.
I hope people take things. I hope people leave things. I hope someone occasionally walks away with a little piece of art they didn't know they needed until they saw it.
Mostly, I hope Little Seasons becomes a beautiful and fun little pocket of delight. A joyful pause in someone's day. A place where making and sharing something small can create a connection between two people who may never even meet.
And yes, underneath all this excitement is some nervousness. This little dream has been waiting for quite a while, and now that I am actually making it, I wonder whether anyone will show up. Will artists participate? Will the community enjoy it? Will the real thing live up to what I have been imagining and planning for so long?
There’s no way I can know those things yet.
That's the vulnerable part of taking something out of your imagination and putting it into the world. Eventually, you have to let other people into the dream.
Perhaps that is also the point.
I don't want to build Little Seasons simply so I can have a tiny gallery in my front yard. I want to make a place for connection. A place where experienced artists and first-time exhibitors can share their work. Where children can experience the pleasure of sharing something they made. Where neighbors can discover something unexpected that brightens their day. Where art doesn't have to have to be grand to matter.
There will be a small gallery for changing exhibitions, and below it, a place where neighbors can freely share and discover little works of art.
A place where we can offer one another a little something made by hand and heart.
So the plans are drawn. The materials are gathering. The opening date is set. Sometime very soon, I'll make the first cut. Between now and then, I'll be sharing some of the making along the way. You’re invited to watch as it all unfolds, here and on Instagram and Facebook.
For now, I’m standing in that wonderful place where dreaming and planning meet the actual work of building.
Little Seasons Gallery is planning to open February 6, 2027.
with heart,
Karen
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