Hidden Frame Art Gallery

Welcome to This Place, a city of dreamers.

Overland river flows through This Place, cutting the city in half on its winding journey to the ocean. North of the river, just beyond the pavement of downtown, is lush forest and suburban heaven. South of the river, however, is urban sprawl and wasteland. Marking the transition between these neighborhoods is So Place, named for it's relative location to the central hub of This Place.

So Place is a neighborhood overrun in recent years by a growing community of creatives and hopefuls. They come for the low rent and stay for the burning energy of others like them, all on the hunt for some great future. Part-timers and café loiterers make up the denizens of this emerging little borough. They are the artists.

And where there are artists, there is art. And where there is art, there are galleries. The Hidden Frame is one of these.

The large golden frame that marks the entrance catches the eye, contrasting with the plain building it's attached to. Every visitor must walk through the frame to get inside, each person momentarily a work of art. The frame is welded steel, spray painted to look precious. Commissioned by Lindsay Erstwhile - the fledgling gallery owner - it's an eye-catching frame on an otherwise bland street.

Two large windows flank the entry, displaying some of the wares from inside. They show off two romantic portraits of This Place's northern shore, painted in shining, textured oil. The paintings are nothing remarkable until you peek closer. The paint, far from sitting flat on the canvas, undulates and spirals with the motion of each scene. In one, the light of a dusky sky is sucked down into the dark ocean horizon. In the other, a roiling sea pounds the walls of an aged lighthouse. Brush strokes wash over the eyes like waves on rock. Like fleeting sunbeams in a technicolor sky.

Inside, the gallery is small and well air-conditioned against the day's heat. The pristine, white walls are packed with paintings. Though there are many pieces of work, each offers a unique perspective that claims the focus of the viewer. Over here is a painting of a teacup next to two hands holding one another. Details hint at a deeper, darker subtext - the lipstick on the cup, his jeweled cuff links, her bright red nail polish, the wedding ring on his hand but not on hers - all clues to a greater story.

Over there, on that wall, a posthumous painting of an old woman hangs next to the original photograph it was painted from. A plaque explains that the painting was done by the woman's granddaughter. It's a delight of flashing colors and creative abstractions surrounding an otherwise realistically painted figure. It's hard to understand what the artist was going for, but there is meaning here somewhere.

Each painting has a small placard with the artists' name and a price. Nothing is under five hundred dollars or over two thousand. Each artist is here for their big break, to be seen, to be paid. They work on commission, as does Lindsay.

She sits at a modern style desk just inside the door, reviewing a binder of submissions for her gallery. Her red hair hangs loose and curly around her angled face. She looks to be in her late twenties, still new and starry eyed, but stressed. This is the third year the gallery has been open and new competition is popping up every day. Lindsay used to trust her instincts, but she's wavering. Will next year favor landscapes? Portraits? Abstract? Or is there something else on the horizon - a new avant-guard waiting to overtake the art scene?

Lindsay sighs and closes the book, looking passed the glass of the front doors and into the potential future.

Outside the day wears to a close and the streets cool down. The gallery is open late because that’s when the art buyers come out. Lindsay sets out a tray of fine cheese and a bottle of cheap wine to entice them inside.

An older couple, in polo shirts and khakis - no doubt from West Main - take the bait and stroll around the gallery. As more people file in, Lindsay is all smiles and happy greetings, cheek kisses and banter. She sells five paintings before it's time to usher everyone out into the night.

Miss Erstwhile throws the empty wine bottle away, along with a few slices of leftover cheese. A small price to pay for finding art a home and earning her percentage. She locks up and crosses the street to her apartment building, where the rent is cheap and she can keep an eye on her gallery.

Streetlamps morph the display paintings into something new. In the dim lights of late night So Place, they are the dreams had by a young, hard-working idealist. In their corners, hidden just behind the frames and in the curling brushstrokes, are the stark black initials: L.E.

This Place is a podcast written, performed, and produced by me, Ree Callahan.

If you'd like to learn more about This Place, or even tour the city, check the description for details.

Thanks for visiting and don't be too shy to stop by again!

Download at Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/ree-callahan

Look at DeviantArt

http://reecallahan.deviantart.com/gallery/49659113/This-Place

Watch at YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/user/thisplacepodcast

To learn more about this project
http://thisplaceblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/new-project.html

Mister Whip Ice Cream

Below is the transcript for the fourth episode of This Place. You can find the podcast at either YouTube or Soundcloud and the art at DeviantArt. Cheers!

Mister Whip Ice Cream

Welcome to This Place, where hard work is rewarded.

Downtown, mere blocks away from the cupcake house, a giant ice cream cone emerges from the corner of an otherwise unremarkable glass building. It doesn’t take much room, and the design stands out on street of otherwise blocky structures.

It is made of textured fiberglass. Fibers weave in and out of one another, strengthening the façade and shining in the sunlight. The base has the criss-cross texture of a classic cake cone, to scale. It rises swiftly to bolster white whipped swirls above - expertly spun ice cream waiting for a hot day.

Today is such a day. The air is rigid with the sun's rays, kicked back up off of the asphalt and into the air. In a few minutes, when lunch hour starts and the ice cream shop opens, crowds will flock to this little gem. They will wait through their breaks for that smooth creamy-cold goodness - each person sweating in their button downs and chinos. On a hot day like this, it's worth braving the sun.

On the smooth side of the cone's rim, it says in bright red letters: "Mister Whip Ice Cream". The letters are lit from within and send ruby light scattering on the surrounding concrete. Patrons sit on wire chairs at small bistro tables, taking up sidewalk space, but no one complains. It's good for commerce and it's good for business.

Below the sign is the all-important service window where warm customers can order their cold salvation from peppy employees. There are two servers at any given time at Mister Whip - one for each window. Between them is the menu.

Three flavors of soft serve are available: Vanilla, Chocolate, and Vanilla-Chocolate Swirl. Peter Ivanov, the owner, believes in keeping it simple and he must be on to something, because customers just keep coming back. The shop also carries the usual additions: sprinkles, whipped cream, bright cherries, and a home-brewed chocolate shell that hardens mere moments after contact with the cold soft serve. None of the offerings could be called quirky or strange.

Inside, the shop is crowded with stacks of cake and waffle cones, with paper cups and plastic spoons, and, most importantly of all, the small fleet of soft serve machines that make the beating heart of this business. They are only a few years old, and the chrome still shines against fluorescent lighting. Each has three levers - one for each flavor - and add their humming tones to the background noise of the ever-present air conditioning units. The room smells like vanilla and sugar with distant undertones of bleach and windex.

The walls are brilliant white, and scrubbed on the first Monday of every month - the only day the store closes. Mr. Ivanov believes that every day the store is open is a good day, but more than that, he believes in cleanliness. So the store closes on one maligned day every month and the patrons must go without. The next morning, however, they are welcomed once more to try any of Mister Whip's offerings on their way to work or a movie.

In the back of the store is Mr. Ivanov's closet-sized office. It's kept closed when he is not around, because Mr. Ivanov is paranoid – a holdover from the old days in the mother country. On the desk is a photo with him and his wife. He's the smiling man in his mid-thirties with the receding hairline. His wife smiles too, teeth crooked, and beautiful blonde hair curling in the wind.

He usually keeps his desk very neat, but today there is a small box resting there, inches from the picture frame. The box looks just large enough for a few cookies or a cupcake and pink icing mars the white interior. Broken twine sits in his trash, and this box will later be buried there as well under paper bags and old invoices, where no one will see it.

The afternoon blaze fades, but Mister Whip Ice Cream is only heating up. The nighttime crowd is full of dating couples and bored teenagers looking for a little something sweet. The ice cream shop opens late and closes late, making sure to grab every customer it can.

One day, Mr. Ivanov hopes to franchise his start-up, and things are looking good. Costs are down and profits are up, which he hopes will mean more to American investors than his accent. He's left his European roots far behind to start this business, and is confident he will be rich someday. In the meantime, however, Mr. Ivanov will hustle. He will clean his store and sell his ice cream to eager customers willing to pay for a sweet chill on a hot day.

This Place is a podcast written, performed, and produced by me, Ree Callahan. You can find more on blogger, deviantart, and google plus.

Thanks for visiting, and don't be too shy to stop by again!

Download at Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/ree-callahan

Look at DeviantArt

http://reecallahan.deviantart.com/gallery/49659113/This-Place

Watch at YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/user/thisplacepodcast

To learn more about this project
http://thisplaceblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/new-project.html

Jerry's Junkers

Below is the transcript for the third episode of This Place. You can find the podcast at either YouTube or Soundcloud and the art at DeviantArt. Cheers!

Jerry's Junkers

Welcome to this place, a city of borders.

This Place was built at a crossroads between desert and mountain, forest and ocean. South of the river that bisects the city is the great, expansive desert where enterprising citizens are expanding the city boarders, one business at a time.

Out in the stark sun squats Jerry’s Junkers, an acre of parched land fenced in with chain links and barbed wire. Inside the gate is a fleet of ruined vehicles, waiting for human vultures.

Jerry protects his hoard of transmissions and engine parts jealously, with state-of-the-art security cameras and motion detectors. The entrance is an electronic gate that only Jerry has the code for. The man himself - short, hairy, and overweight - sits in the small, air conditioned building just next to the gate. Inside of the plank board shack, he watches a grid of small screens endlessly, monitoring his collection of twisted metal and broken chassis.

Each car on the asphalt was once new – shining glossy in the sunlight – but whether it was after an accident or a financial crisis, they had all ended up at Jerry’s, dull and rusting. Money-conscious citizens take the 213 loop from downtown or Route 65 from the North to get to Jerry’s, where they can seek out and buy car parts at a discount. Of course, Jerry offers no guarantees and charges a fee just for entering the junkyard. Each car is a promise that might pay off with a cheap repair or a rare part. But still, no guarantees.

The sun climbs in the sky and Jerry lowers the shade of his service window. He’s still accepting customers, but the sun’s rays are too strong to ignore for long. The western sea winds almost make it to the junkyard, but anyone coming to pick the carcasses of old machines should bring sunscreen and water. There’s no telling how long one might spend going from one line of ruined vehicles to the next.

This red truck still has its suspension, and that green sedan has a good gear box. This white SUV, on the other hand, is just an empty shell. Even the steering wheel and the seats are gone. The only evidence left that it once belonged to a person at all is the pink crayon scrawl on the inside of the backseat passenger side door: Dayla hearts Joey.

Near the front, hard to miss, is an old Ford. It was minted on the day Jerry was born, but he doesn’t know that. Old blue paint is faded to almost white. The tires are gone, and the headlights are busted out. Still, it sits and waits for just the right moment. Just the right… One day someone will find it and rescue it from the asphalt hell. One day it will be restored. Until then it will stand against the sand blasts and the rust. 

It is one of Jerry’s Junkers.

Media:

Download at Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/ree-callahan

Look at DeviantArt

http://reecallahan.deviantart.com/gallery/49659113/This-Place

Watch at YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/user/thisplacepodcast

To learn more about this project:
http://thisplaceblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/new-project.html

The Main Branch Library

Below is the transcript for the second episode of This Place. You can find the podcast at either YouTube or Soundcloud and the art at DeviantArt. Cheers!

The Main Branch Library

Welcome to this place, a historical town.

In the cozy, co-ed infested neighborhood of Cedarland sits the main branch Library. Founded by the great Rowans Brothers, the building follows the neo-classical trail of every other richly-patroned learning establishment. A basilica to knowledge, it has a great glass dome in the center and two bronze-roofed wings to house the tomes of the mid-nineteenth century. The masonry exterior has faced the ages with stoic grace; not one brick is out of place, none are crooked or cracked. Thickly paned windows glint with thin beams of sunlight that struggle through the shade of high-reaching Elm trees. Dish and Dash, two lions guarding the stairs, glare down through their identical manes of stone. The inscription above them reads: "In tempore, omnis cognito". In time, all knowledge.

Past the massive double doors and the creak of ancient iron hinges, a hazy rainbow reflects off of the marble floor, tinting the meridian star there. Light filters through the oculus of the dome: a stained glass wonder. Blue bits of sky rain down through painted cedar trees and flowers, sending a kaleidoscope of color rioting unexpectedly through the solemn hush of the library.

Mrs. Entler clears her throat. She's sitting at the great entrance desk where she monitors the card catalogue. Her stern face reflects on the desk surface of polished, petrified wood - a maze of wrinkles framed by thick black-rimmed glasses and white hair pulled tight and away. She's worked at this library for 70 years. Despite her gruff demeanor, she loves her job and would work there for 70 more if she could.

Past the hulking main entrance desk a herd of college students crook their backs over textbooks and notes. Finals are around the corner and the main branch library is here to catch the overflow from Place University. Occasionally, a mutter echoes through the main hall - asking for a pen or a worksheet.

Beyond the desks of students, the library continues back and back - dark shelves creating a manmade forest of musty books; the wood made paper then built back into some semblance of its old self, but infinitely more: The Lord of the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia, Coniferous Forests: A Guide to Tree Planting. 

To the left an arched doorway, overseen by a blind stone cherub, marks the entrance to the children's wing. It's full of toys, brightly colored books, whimsy and more, ready to bring children to other worlds and teach them to love their imagination greater than anything else. Tiny chairs made for tiny bodies sit empty, waiting for the nearest elementary school to close for the day. 

The other wing hides the unsightly technology the Library is embracing. High-end computers line the curving wall, eager to serve the library patrons. There is no shortage and almost every chair is occupied. Modern, metallic shelves of popular DVDs and audiobooks take center stage, flanked by the very technology they require, ready to be checked out.

In the far corner, near the bathrooms, the microfilm reader stands alone - dusty and forgotten in an age of bright flashing lights and instagraphics. It's very old, but it still functions. Soon, the library will get rid of it.

Though the library is massive and old and mysterious, it thrives - because it changes, because it learns, because it is a safe haven. It has been here for an age, for an aeon. It will be here for one more.

Media:

Download at Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/ree-callahan

Look at DeviantArt

http://reecallahan.deviantart.com/gallery/49659113/This-Place

Watch at YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/user/thisplacepodcast

To learn more about this project:
http://thisplaceblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/new-project.html

New Project

I get bored easily. This isn't a secret and if you didn't know, you do now. More than that, I really hate being bored. So what do I do? I complicate things.

It's not enough that I write. I love writing, but if it was all I did I think I'd go crazy. I'd pore over every phrase, every word, every letter. I'd drive myself nuts. To avoid this, I've been working on some side projects. One of them went live yesterday.

This Place started out as a simple idea. There is a place in my head that I want to explore - a city made of all the cities I've ever lived. There are people, businesses, utilities, and parks. There are roads and regulations and lawmakers. There are neighborhoods with their own unique flavors and personalities. I wanted to find these places. I wanted to see them, to smell them, to meet the people. Eventually I wanted to share them; so This Place was born.

The project is an experiment in podcasting/art. I go through the city, one building at a time, and describe it. I want to build a mosaic, brick by brick and day by day, until a visit to this fictional place feels almost as complete as a visit anywhere else. I'm inviting the denizens of the internet to be tourists in the city of my dreams and memories.

I like to draw and I think of my illustrative work as a hobby to balance out my more "serious" creative drive to write. So, each little podcast comes with a drawing of that place. I also want to invite anyone who desires to contribute their art to This Place to do so. Whether that's drawing the people, or your own interpretation of the buildings. I want to see the "photographs" people might take while wandering around this little-big metropolis of mine. I'm hoping people will be interested and engage in my world, because I think a city is too complicated for one person to completely fabricate on their own.

This Place is my brain baby, and right now I'm nervous that I've put it out there. I'm worried no one will like it, that it will be mocked or bullied or worse - ignored. But this is the nature of revealing my labor of love to others. There is the distant, niggling fear of rejection and a tinge of anxiety because you can never know how people will react.

To escape my boredom, I have side projects. To escape my anxiety, I have writing.

Please, let me know what you think about my little project in the comments! I'm looking for any kind of feedback - the good, the bad, and the constructive. Also, if anyone has any experience doing something like this project, I'd love to hear your story about how it went!

[Note: This post is a cross post to my main personal blog at http://reecallahan.blogspot.com/ ]

The Cupcake House

Below is the transcript for the very first episode of This Place! You can find the podcast at either YouTube or Soundcloud and the art at DeviantArt. Cheers!

The Cupcake House

Welcome to this place, a city for nice folk.

Downtown, nestled between two tall, anonymous buildings of glass and steel is the Cupcake House. It’s the last of the original city structures - a literal house. The sign painted "open" swings between two white poles at the foot of the entrance path, beckoning visitors inside.

The cobblestone foundation marks a sharp contrast to the brightly colored home. Old fashioned siding is painted pink and the roof is faded purple shingling. It has been a long time since anyone has paid attention to that roof, and empty places mark missing shingles. Windows paned in delicate fanning shapes frame a warm light coming from within. All around, the smell of sweet baking fills the air like an intoxicating incense.

There is a small walkway leading to the front door and a set of stark, concrete stairs. No doubt put in because of city code regulation #318, barring wooden stairs from the facades of business. The white railing does its best to distract from the eyesore, standing bright and freshly painted. It almost succeeds.

On the sturdy oak door, a cupcake is painted in a fading green that matches the plain wooden sign overhead that reads, simply, "Cupcakes". There are no slogans here, nor banners, no neon or flashing lights: just plain paint. Look closely. Behind the color, the grain of the old tree is still visible.

The door is open and beyond it the house is one room. Overhead, the ceiling rises to curved rafters supporting the roof. To the left, paintings line the wall. In each is a unique cupcake, carefully rendered in vibrant color, and framed by the same dark oak that makes the door. The paintings overlook small booths, carved with shapes and swirls like clouds settled on the hard wood, leaving their impressions behind. Each table has a napkin holder - a ceramic cupcake with white paper tissue peeking out from a hole at the tip of the glossy frosting.

To the right of the door is a long, glass counter. On top are spinning platforms made of crystal and curled steel to hold the precious goods that the Cupcake House was built for. Inside the case is a rainbow of iced confections, each one a tiny dream in whipped swirls and curling fondant. Behind the counter is a line of cast iron ovens. Ancient technology and only useful to the few skilled with its workings.

One such, a woman, stands in front of the house at the window, swirling icing onto a single cupcake on a twirling platform. Her name is Maryanne. She is the short, stout, and very perky owner of the cupcake house after her own mother, and her mother's mother before that. They were the daughters of settlers. A dynasty of businesswomen maintaining their humble castle.

"Cherry Whip with rainbow sugar crystals," Maryanne explains, showing off the way the glittering sprinkles refract the light onto pink icing. She places a brilliant red cherry on top before gently positioning the cupcake in its own small box. After a flurry of nimble movement, the box is wrapped in colored twine and ready to deliver.

To whom? Perhaps it's a secret, because she doesn't say.

At the far end of the counter is an antique cash register in bronze and gold. The numbers are ivory, made long before the plight of elephants was known. The characters are as crisp as the day they were painted. Each cupcake is one dollar and twenty five cents, or ten dollars for a dozen. Cheap, but priceless. Receipts are written on faded yellow paper.

The wood floor creaks on the way out, and the sun is fading. It's time for the Cupcake House to close, and Maryanne changes the sign at the edge of the pathway before walking back inside to keep working at her trade, and her art.

This Place is a podcast written, performed, and produced by me, Ree Callahan. Thanks for visiting, and don't be too shy to stop by again!

Download at Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/ree-callahan

Look at DeviantArt

http://reecallahan.deviantart.com/gallery/49659113/This-Place

Watch at YouTube

https://www.youtube.com/user/thisplacepodcast

To learn more about this project
http://thisplaceblog.blogspot.com/2014/07/new-project.html

Launching This Place

It's official - my new audio-art project will be launching on July 1st!

This Place is my way of exploring writing, performance, and illustration all at once. Each episode will be a detailed description of one place in this wonderful, fictional city of mine. Accompanying each description will be an illustration that I will post as the video on YouTube and DeviantArt. Eventually I might expand the drawings to the occasional citizen, but we'll see.

Here on the blog, I'll post the transcripts to each episode to read and analyze.

So, please stay tuned! The podcast will be available on Soundcloud as well, for those who want to download a listenable version for free.

Also, if you want you can follow me on Twitter or Tumblr as well, for those who tweet and tumble and want more updates!

You can see the trailer here:
"This place is a city like any other city. A place where people eat, play, read, laugh, and love. A city with neighborhoods, short-cuts, and local legends.

See the sites. Try the food. Meet the locals.

Thanks for visiting, and please - stay a while!"