... and it took me approximately 22 hours to steal it.
(Isn't there something quite fabulous about stealing clothes from your significant other? Whenever BC is gone I pull out his old sweatshirts and prance around the house in them. He's always worried that they stink like man, but I think they smell like all the comfort in the world)
At ANY rate, this hat was purchased expressly for an EVENT, said event being my first art show opening in California since moving back last year. I'm also here to tell you I failed miserably at documenting the affair and instead chatted non-stop while swilling white wine. However I am quite all right with my prioritization as there is something magical about discussing art, especially in a little spot as charming as Shipwreck (if you are in town, or passing through, the show will be up for the month of June - pop on in!).
(in lieu of loads of fabulous show photos... my barren walls)
So now, this morning, I sit and write to you under Brother Nip who looks like a little lost skull in an expanse of white and scattered nail holes. What this REALLY says to me is this:
It's time to start packing.
Yes, BC and I have been fairly nomadic for the duration of our marriage, living in more places than can be counted on one hand. And it's time to pack up once again, evaluate our belongings, and prepare for a new home.
When we first moved back to California, into this house, we thought we'd log more years here than anywhere else before. However back in February an opportunity arose with a home less than an hour away that we knew we couldn't pass up.
Double sized studio.
One acre of redwood, cedar, birch, maple, cherry blossom, lilac, wild rose, blackberries, salmonberries and more ferns than one could possibly count.
When we first saw it, the house was a wreck. To be direct, when we left, BC turned to me and said "Please tell me you saw something good because that place looks like a hell-hole." Luckily I did, and even in it's state of nasty-carpets-that-smelled-like-cat-pee, busted-windows, invasive-weeds-everywhere, and the most hilarious 8-year-old girl graffiti on every wall (the studio to-be had a 7-foot piece in neon pink spray paint that said "smile"), the house felt like it had good bones. Musty bones that had not seen love in many years, but bones that held a certain sense of peace and inherent happiness, like it had seen joy and heard laughter and was ready for that again.
So now, months later, we're nearing the finish line. Last week we picked flooring. We bought a very sexy gas range. We crossed our fingers tight as the contractor promised (for the umpteenth time) that he would be done and out in under two weeks. I've measured and laid out the studio on paper to a perfect "T" (or so I think. Studio tend to be the sort of thing one must work in a while before cozying into every corner). And now, it's time to pack.
I'm preparing work for one last shop update before the studio is carefully tucked away and I go on work hiatus until we've officially taken new residence.
For now, I'll leave you with the world's smallest sneak peek: our front door in Fireball Orange.
~ Umber ~