Notice I did not call this item art. I am not an artist by any stretch of anybody’s imagination. And I don’t have any delusions about becoming one, either. Let me tell you why.
For the past sixty years there’s been an unspoken rule in my
home: only original works of art are allowed on my walls or on display anywhere. Store bought stuff is tacky, they all told
me. Early on I realized that both sides
of my family tree have plenty of artistic souls and my creative talents lie elsewhere.
My father created metal puzzles out of wire (he was a
pipefitter) and did a lot of whittling. His
mother made closets full of handmade quilts she designed herself and never
bought a pattern in her lifetime. My mother
was a poet, published several times in local publications. Her mother hand-sewed Barbie dolls of her own
designs back in the day when Barbie was brand new and Ken hadn’t yet been
created.
One of my maternal cousins is a well-known songwriter who has
won awards in country music; you would recognize most of his songs the minute
you heard the first words. Another cousin
was an extremely popular local radio disk jockey for many years before he
retired and decided to have a second career driving an eighteen-wheeler and
traveling all over America.
One of my daughters went to art school and became a real
artist. You probably have no idea what
joy that has brought me through the years and how many of her early works I shelled
out good money for, and they were worth every penny.
My son plays a guitar.
He’s not famous. To this day I’m
trying to decide how that squares with having a college degree in physics. We just never know where talent might spring
up in a family, do we?
With all this creativity orbiting around in my life, I discovered
along the way I enjoyed just messing around with crafts. I’ve done macramé, crewel embroidery,
quilting, acrylic painting (on anything except canvas because those are for
real artists), junk journals, found object things that defy description, and
probably some more stuff I just made up one afternoon and decided it would be
fun.
The photo with this blogpost is one of those afternoon things. I found an old rotary phone in a thrift store
and decided it needed a little makeover.
That shade of black seemed boring, so I glued quilt scraps all over
it. I seldom sell my creations, but I do
enjoy giving them away to anybody who happens to admire one.
Before my mortal clock loses all its battery life, I just
might create a few more spontaneous masterpieces. But they’ll probably be in writing and
published somewhere for future generations.
Truth really is stranger than fiction, and I’ll never, ever run out of
ideas for research projects.
