|vintage can courtesy of lucas hicks and his ragtime suitcase drum kit.|
weekends here are a blur. i mean, it's a miracle that i get through them mostly unscathed. it all starts on friday at eleven, when we open the store to the public. our store is located smack dab in the middle of our house, which is essentially a glorified barn facing the main street of town. essentially, on the weekend, my house becomes a store, and my living room, a buzz of activity, full of people both known and unknown to me, checking it all out. it's a vulnerable feeling, this is us, this is who we are, all of a sudden we go from having a private life to being public figures, simultaneously we become susceptible to judgement or scrutiny. but we are proud, we are different, we let it all hang out. and fortunately, most people don't focus on the occasional cobweb, cluttered table or unpolished floors. fortunately, for the most part, people are generally pleasantly surprised by the art, the eclectic nature of the space, and its inhabitants.
monday through thursday, i get my house back. on the weekdays, when most people are working their normal jobs and town is quiet, store returns to living room, where the cats sleep tucked in boxes, the woodstove churns as i work watercolor to paper on the large university lab table covered in clipboards and pencil-filled mugs. these are the golden days that i spend recovering from store days and party weekend evenings. usually, over the hectic weekend, i make quite a tornado: the dishes go undone, the dirty laundry explodes across the bedroom floor, and the studio is a warzone. weekdays, i methodically chisel away at the mountain of chores, bit by bit, until they are mostly done. it's a soothing sense of accomplishment found in taming the nest.
and then, just about as quickly as it disappeared, friday comes again.