Arts Blog by Sabra Comins
March 2026
Dear 700 SW Madison,
When I first walked through your red doors and stood beneath your arcing beams, I felt held. Not by art or people or even architecture, but by something less tangible. When I later rolled out my mat for yoga in the gallery, I looked around asking myself, am I really allowed to be in here?
Similar to humans, spaces are influenced by their past. It’s easy to see physical changes like fresh paint or moved walls, but what lingers after a reception is over? What remains from the people who gathered years ago when you were a church? Even the bat who slipped in instead of out during a crowded reception contributes a story.
Sometimes I long to have your capacity to hold. The way you allow hesitation to transform, or not, within your space. Do you remember my first time visiting you? Of course you do, and of course you don’t.
I imagine the collective of people who pause under your roof to explore both their internal and external landscapes. Your walls and beams somehow soak up whispers and gasps of surprise. I imagine a golden wooden paddle in your rafters churning experiences as people and art and even the odd bat flow in and out over time.
I recently heard an interview with author Imani Perry on the radio. When asked how to be connected during difficult times, she answered, Be present with each other and join something you can get behind. When we continue to show up, we build trust.
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I wish the two of you could spend time together. People are brave with you, from expressing secrets to silently being present. Perry seems to live from a place of unbelievable empathy. Perhaps I will sneak in some evening to read excerpts of hers to you by candlelight, and the flame’s heat will loft her words high so that you can blend them with what has come and what is yet to be.
Speaking of what is yet to be, you must be thrilled with Kim Smith Claudel’s upcoming installation! Like a long-lost friend, she returns for a solo exhibition that will be in direct communication with you. Have you thought of what you will say? I wonder what she will hear.
I am eager to see what work that resists completion looks like. I’m hoping you can garner some insight on this for me while she’s here. How does she know when a piece is done if it is in deliberate flux? Or maybe that’s part of its beauty, to both never be done and always be done. I wonder how Smith Claudel might apply her process-oriented practice to everyday life.
I am mindful of the challenge of being present in life, especially now as the spring equinox – a balanced time of daylight and darkness – nears. Is my past buoying me along into the future or does it dominate? Does my mind step back, so my heart and hands can hold me present? Before I race toward the daylight of summer, I consider these and other pushes and pulls in my life. I look forward to the playfulness of the changing sunlight as it filters through your high windows. Maybe you’re eager to enjoy the chatter from the returning rufous hummingbird.
To keep myself balanced and to add to the story building beneath your roof, I am offering a creative whisper invitation. Each month, I will share an activity from my studio that I invite others to do on their own. Acknowledging that intention and small acts matter, I envision each creative whisper – regardless of where it is made or how finished it may be – will get churned in your rafters, adding to the essence of your space.
In honor of spring, my March creative whisper is to make a piece of art with only green media. Using paints, pencils, felt, beads, ink, and a variety of painted paper that I have on hand, I’m creating a two-page book. It may look more like a notecard on stilts when finished, but any artwork with any green medium will work. After all, you welcome whispers of all kinds.
Happy Spring 700!
Sabra
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