pulling a sweater over my arms this morning had sadness in it. the break in the heat is a good thing. but the chill in the breeze reminded me that my barefoot days don't go on forever. and being knocked out with this cold and using all the energy i have at the studio, has left my house messy. dishes at the sink. unfolded laundry. and clutter in the living room and library. it's been worse. much worse. but in the summer i love having a freshness and the ease of tidyness through the house. i don't have that right now, but i'll get it back by the weekend (or on the weekend).
i'm quite ornery when it comes to my home and my aesthetic. people who love the charm and the authentic quality of age and the stories it tells, feel at home with our house right away. but for the most part, people who casually walk past our house have a mistaken idea that it's in rough shape. that someone needs to buy it and fix it up. i hear it all the time. the look of age that i lovingly foster, looks like neglect to most. and when i invite people in, they are inevitably surprised that it is roomy and comfortable and energetic and warm. and not shack-like. it amuses me. it tickles the rebel in me. i think the artist in me is quite certainly still a child!