I arrive a little after 7pm, with three friends, one of whom had redeemed a free zipcar for the night. Our heads are full of “golden oldies,” because that was the only radio station we could settle on.
Maxwell Colette is easy to spot from down the block and across the heavily-trafficked street; tall bright windows glow a soft yellow. The gallery is full, but not uncomfortably so, yet.
The space is warm not just in temperature and light, but also in sound.