As my eyes opened this morning they were confronted with
the vision of my tiny closet bursting with
a plethora of personal belongings.
Don't get me wrong...
I am thankful to have such a collection
but cannot figure out a way to contain them
behind closed doors
(read... I have not made the time to deal with it).
Outside of my nesty-bedding
this is the first textile experience I have
every time I get my bum out of bed.
My feet are very pleased.
They'll be more pleased if my toes were painted.
My closet isn't the only "collection" space.
I've stashed a mirror that I made years ago behind
my bedroom door. I have yet to determine its final placement.
After indulging in morning coffee
I began planning my attack on
creating a painting to hide behind the barn door.
A secret spot.
At the moment I have absolutely no idea what to paint.
So I'm priming it, but not to the edges.
It will stare at me each time the door is closed
segregating space within the house I
share with two males.
(whom which I have known for a very very long time)
The door was a gift, found & purchased off
the sidewalk in front of an old building in the town I live in.
It was one of those screaming deals.
I'm guessing it's 100 years old (approx.)
...as I listen to this on Pandora...