Imagine being new to town and exploring Saranac Lake by biking down the rail-trail, passing a serene (if you can dodge the geese) wetland on your right, a community college on your left, a theatre, hiking trails, the indie grocery, a new brew pub, the historic train station across from the soon-to-be children’s museum, and quality affordable housing for families and artists. “Does this place have it all? Should I move here?” one might wonder while pedaling on toward a big, beautiful, blue building on the right adorned with sculptures, blooming gardens, picnic tables, and a diversity of people gathering inside.

Last week the art gallery, concert venue, studio space, thrift store, movie theatre, and community hub BluSeed announced they need to raise $40,000 fast in order to keep the lights on. Launched in 2001, offering kilns for potters, fabric arts for designers, a letterpress for printmakers, and so much more, the space has provided all-ages arts programming unlike anything else in the Tri-Lakes region. Being somewhat new myself, I won’t say much about Blu’s history, but I’ll instead focus on what the place has meant to me over the three years since my wife and I moved to the village, complete strangers to this place and its people.

Because of BluSeed, I know the work of so many local, regional, and visiting artists. I’ve been impressed and influenced time and again by artists I didn’t know were my neighbors and neighbors I didn’t know were artists. From Dave Fadden’s kaleidoscopic paintings to Daniel Bruce’s post-pop art curiosities to creepy assemblages of Anastasia Olin, Jenny Curtis, Jess Ackerson and others have moved me and made strong impressions on my artistic vision, my understanding of place, and my confidence that Saranac Lake is somewhere I belong. Which is to say: weirdness is welcome here. And please know that what I mean by weird is surprising, delightful, challenging, and authentic. Weird is the kind of art that makes Saranac Lake the cultural hub of the Adirondacks, and that weirdness has (thank God) spread to cultural spaces across the park. I mean, landscapes and watercolors will never be unneeded here, but if that were all the art the Adirondacks had to offer, I might not still be a resident.

I think too about the times BluSeed’s programming has pushed me out of my comfort zone: it brought me to my first fashion show (where designers used entirely recycled materials to create one of kind works), my first sober open mic (where amateur comedians, storytellers, poets, and musicians shared space), and my first improvised musical (which ended in a dance party). I’ve also explored their art thrift store to find things I need for my work (frames, portfolios) as well as things I didn’t know I needed (a giant magnifying glass). Most significantly, it’s the place where I meet new weirdos and deepen my appreciation for the weirdos I already know.

It’s not only I who loves and relies on the work that BluSeed does. You can see its influence in many other one-of-a-kind, upstart art spaces in the Tri-Lakes, such as the punk-rock The Station out in Onchiota, the very contemporary Step Mother Earth gallery in Bloomingdale, and even the long-standing, socially-responsive Lake Flower Landing on the outskirts of the village. I’m not saying these spaces wouldn’t exist without BluSeed’s precedent, but I guarantee all three benefit from audiences cultivated and attracted to the region over the decades by its consistent, risk-taking, and inclusive programming. What a place like BluSeed does is show the arts community what’s possible in order to make space for others to take risks with the peace of mind that people will show up, have a good time, and walk away changed (or at least with a new friend or two).

Marissa, Jeffery, Jazen, Jess, Martha, Jeshua, Seneca, Britt and the board do so much with a such a small budget, an even smaller staff, and a ton of responsibilities. It’s hard to be in a place where you’re turning to the community for financial support, but I’m confident Saranac Lake can rise to the occasion. If just a fraction of our population gave $40, they could be out of this current hole by the end of the week. I say this hoping the summer people and Tesla Class hear me clearly, because whether you’ve ever stepped foot in BluSeed or not, we all benefit from cultural institutions that provide year-round experiences one doesn’t need to drive hours out of the park to find. A big part of the health of this community is due to the diversity of its singular arts scene, of which BluSeed is a foundation.

So let me return to that person on the rail trail, coming up on a deliciously odd building with a giant, inverted, steel chair teetering by the entrance. They dismount and walk up to the door to find that it dark inside, a “closed until further notice” sign in the window. Not only do they wonder what this place was, but they also have the battle that sense of doubt anyone passing through the village feels when they see empty store fronts and unused properties listing into decay. Maybe this place doesn’t have everything after all, one might worry. Without BluSeed, that worry would be a sad reality.

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Tyler Barton lives in Saranac Lake.