Gallery Gay Blog -

And the first piece? It can be anything you want.

Come walk through my gallery. See the boy I was. Meet the man I’m becoming. Laugh at the glitter. Grieve the dark paintings. Stay a while in the quiet room where two mugs sit on a counter. gallery gay blog

Even a door.

Walking into my own gallery for the first time was terrifying. Because for thirty years, someone else had been curating the show. My parents hung the family portraits. My teachers installed the dioramas of “normal” futures. The church mounted a giant, gilded painting of a man burning in a lake of fire, labeled Consequences . And the first piece

Coming out wasn’t a single event. It was the slow, agonizing decision to unlock the gallery doors, kick down the closet, and start hanging my own work on the walls. See the boy I was

So this is my blog now. Not a diary. Not a manifesto. An invitation.

Not a museum—dusty, roped off, full of things you can look at but never touch. No, a gallery . The kind with big windows, hardwood floors that creak when you walk, and walls painted a color that changes with the afternoon light. A place where the art is alive. Messy. Sometimes still wet.