I still love a mess
One day while visiting my mother, I opened a hallway closet and several plastic bags filled with ancient grocery store advertisements fell on my head. My mother was never neat and tidy, but after my father died she became a hoarder.
Like my mother, I’m also not neat and tidy. Unlike her, I’m not a hoarder. My fear of becoming one pushes me to get rid of things that are doing nothing but taking up space.
Long ago some of my artwork was for sale at a local gallery. One day the gallery owner called to ask a question about one of my pieces. I had the answer written down somewhere, but my paperwork was such a mess that I couldn’t find it. I decided then that something had to change. The mess was making my life harder.
Today some parts of my life are very organized, but I still love a mess. Art is messy. Fun is messy. Life itself is a terrific mess. I’ve learned that when I’m done having fun, I can just clean up.
I can actually find things I need in my desk drawers!
My many silk paints are organized by color and are cataloged so that I can always find what I want.
