Painting, writing and getting a real job
The unseasonably warm sun filters through our blinds, warming my bones as my feet are chilled by the cold wooden floors.
The house smells faintly of turps and oil and I am comforted by it.
It has been four weeks since I commenced a concerted effort to "finish" Eve's room. The structural stuff was completed months ago ahead of our lovely exchange student visiting, but progress since languished, the reality of renovating on one wage.
Plans have been drawn up, revised, thrown out and redrafted to reduce both expenses and timeframe. Plans which included beautiful Hygge & West wallpaper and a gorgeous Miffy lamp have been exchanged for a large canvas designed to anchor the vibrant red bed, a bed with a long story of its own to be told one day. And so the morphing dollar pinching plans have led me back to painting, three years since I last put brush to canvas and nearly ten since I did so with any seriousness.
I've noticed as my focus has been channelled towards painting and attempting to bring money into the household through piecemeal work my writing focus has slipped away.
Perhaps there is only so much prettiness to come from my mind at any one time, perhaps it is the weight of trying to pull my own. But the desire for words and the love of this space has slipped away at the moment. Usually when I feel this way layouts change and new headers are designed and that just may happen, my space has never been one to stay static for too long, on or offline.
But for a while things might remain quiet here, as I lean in to other creative spaces, as I look for that elusive "real" job, most certainly they will quiet on the social media front as I eschew the general wisdom and dump instead of diversifying.
My mind will be quieter as I focus on the push and pull of paint across canvas and the movement of pictures from my mind into reality.