PHOTO COURTESY OF MICHAEL D. DAVIS

For me, as an artist, ideas are fascinating. For all the books, paintings, articles, and other projects that I’ve done in my life so far, there have been a million that never got past my frontal lobe. But that rare case when an idea ya had so long ago comes to fruition, well, there’s nothing cooler.

It had to be a decade ago that I first had the idea for the door. The thought of a door just standing in the middle of nowhere has been filed away somewhere in my head for years, and every once in a while I’d revisit the idea, but that was it. I don’t know why it appealed to me so much. Maybe it’s the fact it’s a possibility. A door in the middle of nowhere could be just that, and if a thousand people go through it, maybe nothing happens, but the possibility of something happening, of it leading to places unknown, will always be there.

So, this door stayed in a file in my head for years until this spring. I was driving to get some lunch, past the piles of stuff people put out for spring cleanup, and I saw it. An old white door lying on the berm, abandoned. I called my father, the old one, and it was soon in the garage.

For some reason, the second I saw the door, the idea of painting one side of it lime green with dark green stripes was in my head. That was easy. This has reminded people of watermelons, grass, and the shirt worn by Steve from the old kids show Blues Clues. The other side of the door took some more time to figure out. I thought about dots, squares, or only painting half of that side so it looked unfinished, but none of these ideas felt right.

One night, I’m painting, and I end up with this picture of some guy’s eye peeking through a hole in some dark wood. I showed this to my girlfriend, and she said simply enough, that’s what you should put on the door. I took the idea of the peephole eye, and thought about doing multiple over the door, or with some giant colorful dots, but after using Ma as a sounding board, as I do with every project, I landed on a single eye and a hand. The final version of the second side of the door is a scraped-up, rough-looking dark red door with a single eye appearing through the red, and a nasty-looking hand groping the edge.

This is all well and good, but if I couldn’t get the door to stand, the whole project is moot. So, as I was working on the aesthetics of the door, the old one and his friend worked on the frame. Between random projects in various stages of completion, and chatting up any old or new friend they see along the road, the two of them constructed and painted a sturdy, free standing, fully working doorframe. Of course, my father whined a bit about it here and there, but listening to “how the damn thing needs another bracket” is a small price.

As a token of my gratitude, I had a plaque made that credited the assistance of my father and his friend. The plaque also listed the title of the piece, “Schrodinger’s Door.” The door takes its name from the thought experiment Schrödinger’s cat devised by Erwin Schrödinger. I named it this because until you go through the door, all possibilities stand on equal footing.

Windy Goat Acres out in Chelsea, an artist’s haven, has been home to several of my projects over the years, and they gladly took the door. There was no better home for the door. At the annual Fairy Retreat this weekend, I found my door on a trail. Just as I walked up, a small group of people was coming down the trail, talking about the plants that were on the farm. Single file, they all went through the door, some with a pause and pose as my sister took their photo. It was wonderful. Not only did the door look great, like the picture I had in my head for a decade, but people were genuinely enjoying it.

The title plaque on the door only has three names on it, but in actuality it should have at least nine names on it. The idea was mine, of course, but eight other people helped bring it into the world. My Father and his friend built the frame, which was the crux of the project. My Ma has been a sounding board for the project since I first had the idea a decade ago, putting up with every misguided or frustrated thought.

My sister helped put colorful clings on the windows. The kid helped by not pinching a fit about me painting a six foot door in the back of our office. My girlfriend helped with the direction of the design. And finally Jess and Jim from Windy Goat, who gave the door a happy home.