Ib

1

By the time we had arrived at the gallery, midday was already upon us.

Exhaustion and relief played in the minds of all three of us, my parents and I, as we scrambled through the colossal doors, our breaths immediately taken away at the sheer beauty and magnificence of the gallery.
So much valuable time had already been wasted upon our journey here, but now I wondered how many more hours I might spend in this place, gazing upon painting after painting, into the eyes of the long since deceased, and perhaps those who never even existed at all.

A mere few moments preceding our arrival, my mother turned to me, her gentle countenance illuminated by hopefulness.
"Well, we're here!" she announced with a cheerful grin. "This is your first time in an art gallery, right, Ib?"

I nodded, and she raised her arm, gesturing to a large poster pinned above the reception desk.
"We're here today to see an exhibition of works by an artist named Guertena, and they don't just have paintings, but also sculptures, and all kinds of other creations! I don't doubt that even you'll enjoy it, Ib."

She flashed me another grin, and I smiled back at her, attempting to arouse a look of hopefulness equivalent to her own. My father joined our conversation then, his uplifting aura as powerful as my mother's, his smile just as bright.

"Should we get to the reception desk?" he asked. He was a man of few words, but was kindly nonetheless.
"Ah, yes," my mother replied. "Lets get some pamphlets as well."

We approached the main desk and signed ourselves in. Almost immediately my mother began launching a trail of enquiries at the poor receptionist, making him evidently uncomfortable. My father and I waited impatiently in silence. Why she could not simply appreciate the art like a gallery visitor should was beyond me.

Very soon, I turned to her, tapped her shoulder, and quietly muttered a request.

"Hm? You want to go on ahead?" she looked at me with a remote hint of disappointment, and a twinge of guilt arose within me - I often felt guilt for rather insignificant things; it was something I deemed a true nuisance, but was also something I knew not how to rid myself of.
I glanced briefly at the receptionist and noticed him drawing breath, looking drained of all will to be present at his desk.

"Really, Ib..." my mother paused and regarded me, planting her gentle hands on her hips. "Oh, alright. Just make sure you're quiet in the gallery, okay? Don't make a ruckus! Not that there's any need to worry about you, I suppose..."

I smiled politely and thanked her, before turning to venture off into the gallery.
"Don't cause the other visitors any trouble, now!" I heard her call, but already I was approaching the first room.

- - -

The gallery did not seem to be too busy, but many of the works that held my most interest were presently occupied by small crowds of people. It is difficult to observe and appreciate artwork when the heads of towering strangers is all that employs your view. I spent many minutes stretching and straining for a peek at any painting I could, but my efforts were in vain. Eventually, I gave up and wandered into the next room, which fortunately was far less crowded than the previous.

Upon my venturing, I stumbled across a plaque informing visitors of Guertena's exhibition, and stopped to read.
'Welcome to the world of Guertena!' it read. 'We truly thank you for coming today. We're currently holding an exhibition for the great artist, Weiss Guertena. We hope you deeply enjoy the art of the late Guertena, whose creations carry such mystery and beauty both.'

I felt intrigued. Never before had I heard of the name Weiss Guertena, but there was a rising feeling of excitement within me, and I felt a strong desire to discover the 'mystery' and 'beauty' of this artist's works.