Without thinking – I painted the new shutters for the second floor cream. And in distrust I looked at the two coats and thought – I’m uncomfortable. Too much too bright, too cute. I had created the idea for A’s restaurant in tones of grey and she had painted them bright cream. After taking the time to compare the light cocoa with our dark chocolate browns – there was a realization that I had to paint them again. Slowly. Subtle, colors – somehow the two of us you, my sweet and I came up with it… or you rapped me on the head and shaking yours – that wont do, you want to unify not have independent pieces all over.
I felt as ease and KNEW that this new color would work. Some how it would work in the overall plan set up.
While painting. A vision of me stripping furniture at 12 popped into my head, then my days of working in the yard, moving the library to the music room, designing my room, stripping the metal cabinets of my New York apartment. All those projects to keep myself busy…that’s how I made sense of the world, and my place in it. All while doing solitary projects – keeping the world on the other side of the “plan of the day”. If I had to be alone, I would be productive and create a world I like to be in. I would revive the discarded, and forgotten objects of a past I was sure I had lived in.
The vail being drawn back was visceral. Breathing deeply it all made sense. Now what to do with this information.
Asking myself what would I enjoy “doing” for work. Upholstery, owning a card shop, Mr fix it shop…. If I changed careers at 63 that’s what I’d do…
And then I started moving things you had put arranged long ago…
I’ve started to clear out your art studio. To make space…
It felt like nesting – is that what I’ve been doing over the decades to balance my anxiety, my fear of groups…making sense of a world that throws things and people into a bin, and walks off… not knowing that animate and inanimate “things” have a soul emitting vibrations they could never understand but walk on unappreciatively as they walk on a sidewalk, unaware of the composition and handiwork that steadies their pace.