And the Artistic Encouragment from My Parents Never Ends (that’s a good thing)

So, as I wrote a few weeks back, I’ve been lucky to have grown up in a family that strongly encourages artistic endeavors and, despite the fact that I’ve been a grown up for a couple of decades now, I’m still getting some new artsy experiences encouraged by my parents:

We went to Sunday Brunch a few days ago and my dad asked both Dear Hubby and I to help him out by letting him record us singing his newest song so he could play with the new super snazzy professional looking mic that he recently got. He was doing this 5 part harmony thing and he had already gotten one of my sisters, one of my brothers, and my sister’s husband to sing two parts each. Dear Hubby sung tenor and bass and I sung soprano and alto. It was a quick, fun new experience and I kind of hope that we get to do it again sometime soon.


On the Arts

So lately I’ve been thinking about the Arts. You know, drawing, painting, sculpting, collage, photography, dance, music, theater, film, poetry, fiction: all those creative things that we all used to do or wished we could do when we were children, but don’t always remember to pursue as we become adults with adult responsibilities and less and less time that feels like it is ours to use as we wish.

I’ve come to realize that the times in my life when I have been the most artistic are the times in my life when I have been the most happy. And, those times in my life when I have let art and creativity fall away under the pressure of adult responsibilities have been the times when my come and go depression has come and stayed a while, sometimes a long while.

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So, along the lines of my last post, I have this fantasy hobby in which I take old chairs and repair and improve them (read decorate and maybe cushion up) then give away or sell them. In my fantasy, I use photographs, maps, other documents, pieces of fabric, mosaic tiles and paints to Improve the chair- to bring out a theme and say something- poetry in furniture form.

Yes, that’s right, I have a thing for chairs. It is strange because in a house or out in restaurants or even in furniture shops, chairs are not something I immediately gravitate towards, but driving around town on errands, I am always drawn to the old chairs and sofas and to a lesser extent other furniture that is left by the side of the road on garbage day. I always want to stop and see what is wrong with them, see if they are still useful, see if they could be made more interesting.

I think that the reason that new or even in current use chairs don’t draw my attention is that they don’t have stories yet, but old chairs- old chairs have stories to tell, even if the only story you can really get from them is how they were worn out or broken. I want to take old chairs, learn their stories and then make the story more plain – a theme on their seat for anyone to read.

My dear husband dislikes this tendency in me to look at chairs and drool as we drive past. He always reminds me of how little spare space we have in our house and, of course, he is right. That doesn’t mean I can’t keep my fantasy hobby in my head, right?