Mama didn’t raise me to be a cook. No, she scooted me out of the kitchen putting paper and a box of crayons in front of me to make her work easier. I wonder if she knew the seeds she was planting? That I would embrace the making of all kinds of art, the art she also enjoyed.
From coloring books and crayons to clay and chalks, pencils that weren’t #2 yellow and paints! I colored as mama tried her hand at knitting. There was always something she was making but what she was really making was a home. She was nurturing the joy of making, of creating. And she instilled that same desire in me.
My cupboards and shelves have been filled with baskets of ribbons and scraps of fabric. They’ve been lined with packets of needles and spools and skeins of thread. I’ve had my fingers covered with paints, hot glue and papier-mache.
My newfound art is still life photography. It doesn’t burn, shrink or make a mess. I haven’t had to rip out a seem or paint over a mistake. And the beauty captured brings a certain comfort, a reminder that beauty surrounds us in many forms.
I’m on a mission to craft spaces in my life for grace which is its own beauty.
If only mopping and dusting brought this much pleasure. It’s so much easer to dive into the things you enjoy.