Remember being, maybe 13 or so, and thinking you're just too weird and ugly and nobody could ever love you? (Anyone?) And remember how your mom would smooth your hair and tell you you're the prettiest girl in the world, and nobody is really even worthy of you yet?
Creatively, I feel 13 again quite often, but I'm kinda growing out of it, just like my hair-smoothing pal Angie promised I would. (And it means a lot, coming from an artist like this.) So, as I was kinda apologizing for my (well, let's face it) HACK "studio"... the area between the front door and the back of my sofa into which I've crammed my sewing machine, fabric, beads and everything else art related that I have collected over the past decade or so... she pretty much told me to shut up and embrace it. Name it something fabulous. Celebrate the weirdness. So.
Welcome to Studio Behind the Davenport.
Or something. But we both decided davenport is an extremely under-utilised term. Yes, I'm stretching the def a bit.
The huz and I have been painting, and the studio is a much cheerier shade (sunshine yellow!) and I'm ready to get serious about setting up my workspace. My armed-forces veteran, childbirth educator, artist, supermama friend - yeah, she blows my mind, too - is coming Tuesday to put me through de-clutter boot camp... wish me luck. Since Behind the Davenport is where everything got dumped during Project: Paint, I'm gonna need it.
Here's what it looks like today... can't wait to show you what it looks like Tuesday after Amy leaves!
I know, right? ACK!