⚡ December 8, 2017
The Artist's Lair 📓
Welcome to the (much) more sociable Perforated Lines. I’m using a portion of this photo to gussy up my front page or whatever it’s called on Facebook. I am trying to get used to it, but I always feel as if I’m at the Mall, with lots of things to see and friends to meet and stores (groups) to get lost in. It can be fun if you’re in the mood.
I’d rather scan Twitter, where I can mostly stay out of trouble, except for today when I wrangled with an anonymous someone’s youthful avatar. It never goes well for me in real (virtual) life, or even in virtual life itself, come to think of it. I tried Second Life for a brief minute or two, my poor machine whirling its fans in terror as I tried to get my character up a wall and out of a well. In my defense, I’m told the Mac is not the machine to attempt a flying maneuver.
The photo shows a nighttime view of my red room, where I do crafts. The shelves were all built in when we bought our house, and it’s one of the reasons we bought the place. With the fires in Los Angeles whipping around places we know and love, I am very grateful for our house away from fires and earthquakes. Of course, we do live in a forest of constantly falling trees, so there’s that. Nonetheless, I love to put things on shelves, obviously.
And now a moment of motherly pride with little-to-no fear of too much exposure, which my children constantly worry about. My daughter has already posted this photo to her Facebook page, and my readers are way more gentle than the Facebook crowd, believe me. Also, I wanted to have this photo to admire far from the madding crowds and to save for posterity. It is so beautiful, with such attention to details: the inner seam on the rolled cuff, the scuffed knee, the notebook, especially.
I’ve always wanted to be an artist, but my mother wouldn’t have it. Couldn’t see it. Didn’t dare. And now I’m the mother of at least two artists, and counting. So, there’s that. 🐔