There is this piece of art that has been hanging around my house for years. My husband’s best friend gave it to us when he moved away.
And I hate it.
Not the actual art itself. It’s the color scheme. Matching it to anything in my house was impossible. So we painted the walls this orange color and I bought a gray and blue comforter hoping to tie everything together.
And it kinda worked. Except it turns out that the piece doesn’t hang well anymore so it fell off of three different walls before being shoved behind the sofa.
Months later, I stumble on it in one of those cleaning frenzies I get. I take it out and put it on my desk behind my monitor. I don’t know what compels me to put a piece of uninspiring art right in my face in my creative work space. It isn’t long before the cursor is blinking but I’m not.
That stupid picture.
I spy a Good Housekeeping magazine on my desk. It makes me think of the mantra I adopted for this year: Good Things are Going to Happen. And true to my random self, I grab some scissors and some washi tape and add Good Things to the middle.
I smile. It already looks better.
It is not really that random for me to turn this into a collage. When I was in high school, I spent the better half of one summer papering an entire wall and half of two others with a collage clipped from my stack of Cosmos.
My mom walked in on me one day (as a teen, she rarely came in my room except to remind me to clean it) and saw that shit spreading across the walls. She dead stopped in the doorway and let out a strangled, “What are you doing?” I turned from my creation, staple gun in one hand, “I’m making a collage.” And my mom, bless her creative heart, she just blink-blink-blinked and left the room. (Thank you mom, for letting me be me!)
But a little washi tape collage is no big deal. Like my mom that day, my husband says nothing of my improvements to his friend’s canvas when he notices them.
So then a few weeks later, I want to add to the canvas, but I can’t find the washi tape.
So I glue my new pieces on.
Then I read this fantastic article and I am inspired to scrawl Write with Whimsy on the top corner with a Sharpie.
My husband comes home.
“You know Harv paid like $200 for this?”
I turn to look at him. Blink-blink-blink, “What?”
“Yeah, he and his roommate split it.”
I scoff at him. “Yeah right.”
My husband is a notorious exaggerator, but I google the artist anyway. I find her at Art.com. So I type in the size and…
But as I look up from the monitor at it, I don’t feel bad for it’s fate. On display with adjustments is better than stuffed behind a sofa. And if the point of art is to inspire someone, well then I say this piece is priceless now, because it inspires me every single day.
(I just want to mention that I really don’t have anything against this artist or her work. In fact, as I was hunting for the price tag, I noticed this piece, this piece, and especially this piece that I’d love to own by the exact same artist.)