Sometimes I wish I pursued a fine arts degree instead of giving in to parents who, years ago, suggested I take up something “more practical.”
I don’t know where this sentiment is coming from; it comes and goes every year. I’m guessing it’s because I’m done living out the profession people think I excel in, and I’m ready to do something else. Something just as creative as crafting sentences and putting words on paper . . . or on electronic media.
When I said years ago that I had wanted to take up fine arts, I had planned on focusing on interior design. I was inspired by my maternal grandmother who was a homemaker. She cooked, which is a skill I’ll never be good at; she sewed bags, clothes, curtains . . . you name it; she tended to her plants; she took care of over-active grandchildren (including yours truly), and so on. How did she manage?
Grandma, in my eyes, was someone to emulate. (And I continue to miss her, but that’s another story.)
Today, I went to one of my favorite second-hand shops, and not surprisingly, came away with “goodies” for my place. Got some framed images; a wooden tray that I plan on spray-painting, especially now that I’ve gained some confidence in doing so; a wooden basket for my collection of rubber stamps . . . or maybe for hand-towels.
Yes, you can say I’m channeling the “interior designer” in me. I had not done this hunting-for-good-finds for some time now, and it felt liberating! So many ideas came rushing through my head as my hands went through shelves and boxes, dusty as they were.
The trip back home was tiring. Nonetheless, the persistent thought flitted back: “How I wish I can do this more often.”