I've been working on this painting for a solid week now.
I bought a big ugly picture from Value Village - it was a wolf, nestled under a tree. The frame was forest green and the mat had a plastic-mettalic rim. It was really ugly, and covering it up would be a kindness.
I just wanted to make some Christmasy art to hang in the living room. The tree is in the dining room, and I don't feel like making a garland of balls in the window again this year, but I wanted the room to have something. I envisioned this quick shabby-chic project being hung up on the wall a few hours after I began - a little white paint with a sponge on the canvas, a little gold to cover the forest green frame, and maybe a word stamped in turquoise or gold. Joy, I think. Or hope?
It's still not done.
I've brought it up from the basement almost every day, but ...
I keep messing up. The kids keep needing me. I keep stopping to make a meal or fold laundry or wash dishes instead.
And this silly painting has taken way longer than I imagined.
But every time I putter away at it, I'm happy. I dance while I work. I sing to myself. I know I am no artist, but it feels really good to be absorbed.
I'm still torn on the colours (I was thinking gold or turquoise ... but now maybe red and gold? Or red and turquoise?) and the way things are going it probably won't be finished anytime soon. But it feels so good to be stresslessly happy. It's already brought me way more simple joy than it will when it's finally done.
I hope your Christmas is deep and rich and holy, friends.
But I hope it is sweet and glad and delightful, too. I hope you find yourself lost in something that makes you smile and dance and sing, something with no ties or obligations attached - just joy.
Happy Christmas, friends!