The more objects I collected on my antique market ventures, and the more art that I created with these finds, the more I noticed that my art was beginning to resemble my porch! The backdrop unashamedly old, weathered, gray, chipped, scratched, dented, faded...then here and there tiny random bursts of color, like the few yellow, pink and blue buttons in a jar of weathered grey and white ones...or my gypsy braids...ripped strips of bright vintage floral fabric, wrapped around a stack of antique grey and brown school books.
There is freedom in creating porch art. Stain spots, rips, tattered edges, all featured and loved for their age and beauty! random pencil jottings I have discovered inside antique book covers...thoughtful words ALMOST lost and forgotten, now featured as treasured writings adorned with bright flowers, birds, and butterflies.
There is lovely truth in porch art. Life is not precise (I hate measuring), perfect, or pristine. The grey and the colorful coexist in beautiful, honest, reality. The dark moments and the bright moments of our lives make us who we are. Porch art is a simple honest extension of the life I love- my life, my porch, grey and bright and beautiful.
