GALLERY SQUARES
Looking back, I am horrified to realize that I spent eight years of my life owning and operating an art gallery that resulted in little or no financial rewards, heartaches, temper tantrums and more fun than you could ever believe. It could be a whole other book, but since this one has not even seen the light of day, let’s just wait for that.
We moved to Franklin Lakes, NJ in 1970, mostly to take advantage of a better public school system. I was 45 years old and restless. The children were in their teens, my husband was deeply involved in his business and poor old mom was left rattling around in a big house with nothing to do.
Lew sensed the mood and when I suggested opening a book store he was all for it. I had romantic ideas of running an establishment that would instantly draw a group of reading intellectuals only too happy to sit around my shop, eating my home baked goodies and discussing politics, religion, literature et al.
It never happened . At Lew’s insistence, I joined the American Booksellers Association and in a few months, through their comprehensive studies and advisory services, determined the area I would be serving was too sparsely populated to support a first class bookstore. Foiled again!
A few weeks later we attended a cocktail party and I shared my perceived woes with a gentleman who was looking sympathetic and full of his own ideas for me.
“Why not open an art gallery?” he asked. I’m in the process of building a unique small retail center with a front courtyard and fountain which would provide ideal space for an art gallery, travel agency, real estate broker and small café on the fountain level and for offices upstairs.”
I rushed off to find Lew and have this wonderful man explain his ideas. Lew was a serious art collector and fell for this smooth talker hook, line and sinker. His enthusiasm was so boundless he would have signed anything sight unseen right then and there. I was a big skeptical. I wanted my erudite bookstore, not an art gallery. What did I know about art? Actually nothing and we should certainly taken that ugly fact into consideration immediately.
Suffice it to say, we went into the art gallery business aided by our own arrogance and the attractiveness of the gallery. Lack of adequate capital backing did not deter our pipe dreams at all. It was not a large space but with Lew’s expensive decorating skills, it became an impressive place. All of the walls were covered from ceiling to floor with a soft beige carpeting, ideal for hanging and rehanging pictures or displays of any kind. Nail holes were never visible. Over the years we specialized in oils, pastels, watercolors, wall hangings, collages, sculptures, metal designs and more.
I fought a valiant battle with Lew to develop a line of fine pottery, mostly made by local and New England artists, as well as jewelry. Lew was not always pleased with these less expensive lines and often referred to them “as part of my five and ten cent mentality.” Never mind, the big art sales were occasional, but our bread and butter was in my much maligned collection of less expensive merchandise.
What has all of this to do with a cookbook? I had never given up my original idea of an “intellectual” setting for like minded people. I insisted that the gallery furniture include a round table and four chairs where people could just sit and talk and snack on sweets.
The “gallery squares” were born. I baked “squares” in different textures, flavors, ingredients and designs every morning before opening .Since we were not exactly mobbed with patrons, four dozen squares was enough. At the end of the day, leftovers were given to the last customer, who usually never bought anything and went home with the bounty.
It was a great concept. Doors opened at 10 a.m. Coffee was always brewing and tea was available. Odors from the gallery squares, arranged on pottery plates in the middle of the round table, were overwhelming. We attracted a lively and disparate group every morning—contractors, homemakers, babysitters and their charges, plumbers, painters, construction workers—all of whom scarfed up the goodies and left without buying a thing. What was going on? No one even stayed for a good discussion.
My assistants gently explained that I was well on the way to becoming a way station and public bathroom. The coffee was good, the baked goods homemade and delicious, but even better, it was free and there was always a conversation going on. Much better and cheaper than the local diner.
It was not exactly what I had in mind. I enjoyed my morning people, but getting up early to bake and not making a cent was taking a toll. We talked it over and decided to open an hour later and not bring out the gallery squares until lunch time. Eventually it worked. Real customers started to come in. The goodies and beverages were a big hit, and people did like to stop in to talk and look at new merchandise. As my judgment improved, so did the art work.
After about four years, we moved from our original location to a larger facility It was a heady few years of artist’s receptions, special showings, elaborate food and old and new friends. Long time customers would come once a week with a sandwich for lunch , dessert and talk at the round table. It was fun and rewarding, but we were still only covering expenses and not making any money.
Eight years of baking squares and frequently more elaborate food, plus tending to the shop, acquiring merchandise and worrying had taken their toll. I was irritable, impatient and just plain tired. When the dream becomes a nightmare, it has to end. We had a REALLY BIG SALE and an even bigger batch of gallery squares. The Wolff Gallery had hit the dust.
The gallery years, as I recall them now, were not the best of my life. If you get the “bug” for either an art gallery or book store, run for the exterminating spray. Unless you are assured of adequate capital for a long time, it is a never ending concern. Both Lew and I were functioning without experience or knowledge of the field, he was in advertising and I was a writer. We were not bookkeepers, money experts or accountants. We muddled our way through tax regulations and never really grasped the importance of pricing merchandise. Eating gallery squares and gabbing with customers and friends was glorious, but in the end, it was the bottom line that meant everything. Maybe “living well is the best revenge” but money in the bank is the ultimate joy.
RECIPES
Gallery squares were always meant to be finger food, not too messy, small and easy to manage. I accumulated many recipes over the years. They were relatively simple and never included nuts, kids hated them and there was the matter of allergies. Forget icings, too messy; confectionery sugar covers all sins.
Squares are baked in metal or glass baking pans measuring 8 by 8, 9 by 9 or 9 by 13. They could be assembled with a heavy duty mixing spoon or more efficiently in an electric mixer.
Katherine Hepburn’s Brownies
Blondies
Lemon Cheesecake Bars
Orange-Oatmeal Squares
Apricot Trellis Bars