Outside it smells like rain and wood smoke. I was reluctant to leave the house on this overcast day, but here I am, knowing it will do me good to get out and visit a gallery on the bank of the Thames. The weather has put others off; it’s quiet inside and my shoes squeak loudly on the stone floor.
I’ve always enjoyed these spaces, there’s a calmness to the gallery and no expectation. A couple talk quietly to each other, looking at a painting in the foyer. Their voices are a hesitant murmur as they share their thoughts with each other. The painting is of a large flat lake, the brush strokes so convincing that I’m sure the water is shining like pewter.
Further into the building I follow a white staircase that spirals down. It’s bigger than I remember from my last visit. At the bottom I follow a winding corridor which leads me out into a wood panelled room filled with seascapes. The dark wood and low ceilings make me believe I could be in the belly of a ship. I study the detail of the spray in the painting of a crashing wave. In another picture, Victorian families paddle in the shallows. There is such movement to the swimmers, I can just imagine them bobbing and swaying. I walk slowly from scene to scene, taking in the colour of the water, from deep blues, almost indigo, to the pale turquoise of oceans in bright sunshine.