Allow me to highlight some key differences between myself and Rick.
Difference #1: Rick stores his ties from a hanger and makes sure that all are hung at precisely the same height. I store my scarves in a box on the floor and occasionally even on the floor. No precision required.
Difference #2: Rick puts all of the forks in one side of the dishwasher utensil rack and all of the spoons in the other. All happily facing the same way. I shove. To use the term “haphazardly” would be generous.
Difference #3: All of the bills in Rick’s wallet are sorted from smallest to largest, neatly flattened, upright and facing the same way. My purse contains 98% unnecessary junk and eats things. Rick went in there to find something last night and came back 10 minutes later
slightly chewed asking me “how I ever found anything in there.”
In sum: I work hard at embracing my inner slob.
So you can imagine that when Rick came home to see this splattered and smeared and drippy and entirely imprecise watercolor propped against the den wall…
…his expression looked something like this.
In case you need further confirmation of my slob-fest, all of the dripping and smearing and splattering was sort of an accident. Said accident was brought about by me
being in a ginormous hurry budgeting my time wisely, and then I just went drip-splat-smear happy and messed up the whole thing. I believe it was Picasso who once said “Art is born in moments of irrational haste.”*
The frame and mat used to live in my parents’ attic. It also used to sport two ladies lounging in what appears to be the middle of a lush meadow.
I sprayed them with paint. Lush meadows are overrated.
I made the big dots just by smearing on some watered-down craft paint with a paintbrush. I didn’t measure or use a stencil. (That would require time, people.)
The next step in my madness involved accidentally letting said dots drip all over because, in my impatience, I picked up the thing before it was dry. Fail. (But I like it better this way. I am slob, hear me roar.)
This whole mess was inspired by this much prettier and less drippy watercolor dot painting that I’ve had pinned for a while. This whole mess is also currently alone in inhabiting the space above the desk in our den. It might need a friend or two to watch over it and make sure its purse doesn’t get too messy, if they are willing to look beneath its disheveled outward appearance and see the tender soul inside who just doesn’t have time to concern itself with organized forks and spoons.
Whose neatness does yours most closely match: mine or Rick’s? Have you ever been working on something and then accidentally-on-purpose made it messy? Anyone else have a man-eating purse? Please do spill. (Or splatter. Or smear. You know, in keeping with the theme of this post.)