Some words have a poetry and music to them that our everyday language seems to have lost. Threshold is one of those words. We don't talk about crossing thresholds much anymore. We open doors, walk through entrances and pass through gates. Practical words for practical things.
But a threshold is more than a strip of wood or stone beneath a doorway. It can also be a beginning, the point where the familiar ends and something new waits to be discovered.
I've passed the Art Gallery of Peterborough more times than I can count. It's right beside Little Lake, and I've often wondered what was inside, but somehow I never got around to going in. This time there was an exhibition called The Pinks and a guest speaker, so I decided it was time to satisfy my curiosity.
I hadn't even made it to the front door before I discovered something. Along the path from the parking lot were the markers for the Peterborough Walk of Fame. I'd heard about it, of course, but I had no idea where it actually was. I stopped to read some of the names and recognized quite a few, including Peterborough's only woman mayor. I've lived in this city off and on for more than forty years, and I'm still discovering things that have been right under my nose.
Just inside the first set of doors was a little vestibule with a rack full of brochures about local attractions. Well, that was a promising start! I was barely into my first Venture and here were all sorts of possibilities for future outings. I made a mental note to have a proper look on my way out.
Through the next set of doors was the reception area, and I was surprised by how comfortable I felt. It wasn't quite like coming home. It was more like running into an old friend, that lovely feeling of being somewhere you belong without having to explain why.
The woman at reception was very welcoming. She pointed me toward the exhibition and mentioned the gallery shop behind me, then left me to explore.
The exhibition was down a ramp, but there was plenty to see along the way. Two pieces in particular caught my attention. One was an intricate metal sculpture with a weathered surface full of colour and texture. It reminded me of leaves or lichen. The other was an art quilt showing rolling fields, fences and wildflowers. I could have spent ages looking at the details in both of them, but I wanted to see The Pinks, so I continued down the ramp.
Near the entrance were six pale pink soft sculptures, and I remember thinking it was rather odd that there were only six. From the name of the exhibition, I'd imagined art dolls perhaps, or different ways of using pink in artwork. I wasn't entirely sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn't what I found.
Inside the main gallery were illuminated frames containing animated versions of those strange pink figures. Each one had its own movements and sounds. They seemed almost alive! I stood there watching them perform their little routines, completely fascinated. I'd never seen anything quite like it, and I wanted to know how on earth the artist had managed to make them move and sound the way they did.
Unfortunately, the lecture wasn't quite what I'd hoped for.
The artist began by showing us her earlier work and explaining how she'd arrived at this point in her career. A lot of it was very abstract, large fabric constructions inspired by the human body. At first I couldn't see the connection at all. Looking more closely, I could begin to make out suggestions of human forms in the circles and elongated shapes, but minimalism has never really appealed to me.
I understood why she was taking us through her earlier work, but I wanted to hear about The Pinks. How had she gone from those large, static fabric pieces to these wonderful little animated creatures? How did she make them move? Where did the sounds come from?
After about half an hour, I decided I'd had enough and quietly slipped out. Perhaps she eventually got around to explaining it all, but I wasn't prepared to wait any longer.
On my way back up the ramp, I took more time to look at the artwork displayed along the walls, and I'm glad I did.
One piece, called Shining Desire, was covered in colour, beads and all sorts of little embellishments. There was so much going on that it took me a moment to recognize the heart at its centre. I loved it. Another piece, Detachment, combined painting with tangled strands that extended beyond the edges of the canvas. I found the mixture of materials fascinating.
I didn't notice its title at the time, and I had no idea what the artist was trying to say. I only knew that it reminded me of prisoners, and seeing those chains against the open water of the lake made me terribly sad.
Later, when I looked back at my photographs, I discovered it was called Detain. No wonder I'd thought of prisoners. To me, it reflected what has been happening at the US border.
What surprised me even more was discovering that all these pieces were created by young artists taking part in the gallery's Youth Art Mentorship Program. Kids! I was amazed by what they'd accomplished. It wasn't just the technical skill, although that was impressive enough. It was the imagination, the different materials they'd chosen and the feelings they managed to express through their work.
I'd gone to the gallery expecting The Pinks to be the highlight of my visit, and I certainly enjoyed the exhibition. But those young artists made just as much of an impression on me, perhaps even more.
Before leaving, I stopped at the gallery shop. I hadn't brought any cash for the donation bowl, and I wanted to contribute something, so I bought a little portable paint set made from natural materials. It seemed an appropriate souvenir of my first visit.
For years I'd walked past that building wondering what was inside. Now I'd finally found out, and it wasn't at all what I'd expected. There were things that delighted me, things that fascinated me, a lecture that bored me and a sculpture that made me sad. Quite a lot to experience in one afternoon.
And all because I decided to cross a familiar yet new threshold to see what was behind it.
