I went back to the small gallery on a quiet afternoon. Without the opening-night crowd, the space between two paintings seemed much larger. It gave each work time to become something other than a photograph on a phone.
The curator had left an entire wall empty. From a bench opposite, you could see a doorway, the edge of a frame, and daylight moving across the floor. It felt less like an omission than an invitation to take your time.
I stayed until the light reached the bench. The visit left me thinking about what we leave out of our own work, and whether we leave enough room for someone else to enter it.