Regardless, laundry is where this story started. I woke up this morning with the intent to do it, religiously rotating wet clothes from the washer to the dryer and adding another round until none remained. Embarking on my inaugural descent down the steep stairs into the basement of my apartment building, I laid eyes on my storage unit for the first time. A pile of what appeared to be junk blocked the path to the wire door. Upon moving in, the management informed me that the prior tenants took what they wanted and the rest was left to be scrapped. Stepping past the mound on the floor, a gold picture frame caught my eye.
Snaking the metallic frame out of the heap of probable junk, I imagined hanging it on my kitchen wall, surrounding rare Beastie Boys stickers. Scanning and discarding a few more frames, I came across a wooden lithograph portraying an orange shirt-clad Shel Silverstein-ish character traipsing through an acid trip-inspired rainbow tinted Teletubbie field. This I wanted to see more of.
Rustling through a box, I unearthed a dozen trippy wooden pieces and a trio of bright-colored paintings. To me, the first canvas represented the chakras using a whirl of hues. The second, dark grape with a defining SPLAT! of bubblegum pink, I really haven’t decided how I interpret it yet, but the third – the third is my favorite. Amidst a galactically spectacular background, the red silhouette of a woman rests in outer space, distinguishable by her lips and glowing heart chakra. She walks alone, looking off into the distance at the universe, with our galaxy trailing behind from her thoughts. She is all powerful. Her kindness and love are undeniable.
Basically, I had an incredible art come up, emerging from the basement with more than a baker’s dozen of sick pieces. And I was grateful – for the aesthetic pleasure, the soon-to-be thoughts provoked, and the rest of the larger puzzle of synchronicity to be discovered…when and however that happens. But I knew it was meant to be.
All because of laundry.
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