One of a Kind
Embrace the imperfections!
It’s a line from the book we wrote back in 2016. It’s a reprimand to the perfectionist. It’s a prod to the procrastinator. It’s a release to the overworked. But it’s a tease to the artist (and this author).
When I'm feeling good and relaxed and open... yes, I’ll give that imperfection a quick side hug with a pat on the back. When I'm feeling overwhelmed by the peril and heartache taking place around the world, however, that little guy is all but snuffed out.
But we're told that the world needs beautiful things. And as insignificant as it can sometimes feel to do the work that I do, Rob tells me that it means something to someone somewhere. And so here we are! The holidays are nearly upon us and I'm excited (and nervous and relieved) to be sharing a project that is personal and tender and chock full of the good kind of imperfection. And perhaps a little bit of a catharsis.
The backstory.
Rob and I made the trek to one of our favorite antique shops a few years ago. It's less of a shop and more of a sprawling, somewhat crumbling, warehouse. There's a tidy front room with waxed and polished pieces; old railroad carts now pitched as coffee tables for your stacks of AD magazines, wooden sugar molds from Mexico for your votive candles, etc.
But we head straight to the back, through the oddly heavy set of doors that lead into the gold mine that is the warehouse section. Perhaps you need a dozen fishing creel baskets from the '20s, a pile of French wall wash basins, a mountain of Belgian chocolate molds, or stacks of Mongolian camel food baskets? This is a lifetime of acquired stuff.
The owner of this stuff is a man full of very colorful stories and, though you may hear these stories more than a couple of times, each time it’s worth it. Back at the register where everything is written out by hand (one rice pan, four bobbins, six clay pots, three antique apothecary trays), he is recounting an emotional visit to an elephant sanctuary, with his voice cracking and eyes welling up. Ours too.
A couple days later I had a pang of regret. I had bought only three of those little apothecary trays. I didn't have a purpose for them, just a tug that they were meant to be with us. A short phone call later, Rob's negotiating prowess had met his match. This guy did not budge on his price. Yes, yes, the elephants need to be saved. So we bought the lot.
The trays arrived just as they were found: stacked and dusty and charming with their thick coats of dark lacquer. Rob meticulously cleaned them, dried them, and put them under glass, where they have sat for 3 years.
The now story.
This very wonky and very old hinged case that houses the trays lives in our bedroom. It's got those gorgeous, gangly cabriole legs that make it look like it could just pick itself up and scuttle out of the room. So being that these trays live in our room, it means that they have the misfortune of catching my attention pretty regularly. They have been pulled a number of times when a brainstorm (drizzle) strikes and I feel confident that something I've made is going to look good in them.
The poor things have been through it... a fig, a flower, a snail (no joke). I tried to go the monochromatic route to broaden audience appeal. What would someone with an Open Concept Chip and Jo Modern Farmhouse be okay with on their wall? Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like me. And Rob in his kindest and gentlest and most patient way said the same.
It's a frame, really. And this frame wants a fancy frame because it's been dusty and shabby for so long. And now this fancy frame wants a painting.
Here goes.
To present with confidence something in which I have no formal training is a tremendously tall order. What you'll see is my love of color and impressionism and something reminiscent of flowers. They are worked and reworked and pushed and painted over and hated and loved.
And isn't that what art is? And doesn't it emerge from the best and worst places of ourselves, in the best and worst states of the world?
And all of that angst and joy and whatever Rorschach test you see in these little pieces are contained within a very ornate, handmade frame, ready and waiting to continue their life journey in your hands.
The Fine Art Painting Collection is available for preview now and debuts on Thursday, December 11th at 12pm EST.
Wishing you all a warm holiday with people you love.
