Here’s what I like: my garden, for two weeks in June. The birds that live in mud condos all around our house get really pissed at me for doing it, but every evening I go out and fill up a whole stinking bucket of blackberries and I feel like a farmer–and also Elijah Kelley in 2007’s Hairspray, because I can’t help but sing Run and Tell That while I am picking blackberries, and now neither can you, if you know that song and you pick blackberries.
My singing is only interrupted by Merrick, who murmers softly every five seconds, “That is one giant, juicy temptress.” And then of course I have to stop singing for a moment and laugh my head off.
I have been trying to paint a little bit to keep from going off the cliffs of insanity. My current goal is to find a way to create large-scale paintings without having to step foot in Hobby Lobby. So I got a canvas dropcloth for $5 at Lowes and went all inaccurately-colored rainbow-at-sunset on it:
If all goes according to plan, I will be stretching this canvas on a beautifully handcrafted frame (a future courtesy of my loving husband) and hanging it in the baby’s room at the new house. It’s bold, but I might as well embrace it rather than set up some gentle pastel-and-gray color scheme which is sure to be ruined immediately the obnoxiously bright paraphenalia that babies come with anyway.
Next painting, though, I will stretch and prime the canvas before painting it. I should have done it with this one. I got too eager.
I need Caleb to get poppin’ on those future stretcher bars. I’ve got a million more ideas and the wall space to support them…the perfect storm.