Art is messy & surprisingly un-beautiful in the traditional sense of beauty. My makeshift studio, affectionately called “the living room” boasts a beat up table that was once a door that someone ingeniously hammered onto four legs. There are dozens of half squeezed tubes of paints, dirty paint water in one of my can’t have enough vintage canning jars, brushes that have seen better days & stacks of journals, art books, ephemera & magazines for inspiration. All of which mostly sit there while I flip through my iPad & create smudges all over the screen. Neat freaks, avert your eyes!
But it’s all beautiful in it’s messiness. It’s real, it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a flow, sometimes it’s a mad desire to combine orange & pink, aqua & lime for no reason at all. But it does wash away the dust from every day life. xo