Black on Black

A few years ago a make-your-own-bag store on the Plaza went out of business. They held a buy everything sale for all of their fixtures, etc. By the time I caught wind of it, the good stuff was gone. I did manage to buy a crappy staple gun that never worked and three canvases. Not being too artistic, I painted them all black, liking the contrast it offered against our white walls in New Orleans.

But they were mos def boring. They've sat in a stack in our closet for the last year until recently when John implored me to hang or trash all the pictures piled on the floor. But, again, they were boring. 

Three members of the family. Three canvases. The plan was simple. 

So we slapped some black acrylic paint on our hands and stamped our prints. Annie was napping and was to partake a little later. However, after living through the mess it created on our own hands, I shuddered to think of the enormous havoc it would wreak on the fingers of a little 16 month old. I had visions of black paint all over her face, mouth, clothes...my furniture. Yikes. So poor Annie is, as of yet, not a part of this family art project.

Anyway, there was nothing brilliantly artistic about this whole ordeal. It was just a way to make a black canvas more interesting without doing anything bold and distracting. What can I say. I'm a tone on tone girl.

And it took all of 3 minutes. Sometimes you can see the hands. Sometimes you can't. Just depends on the light and where you are standing. And that's just how I like it. A little meaningful art that's only meaningful for our family. 

But, alas. Perhaps the greatest canvas hanging from that wall is a sweet gift a dear friend brought to me last week from good ole New Orleans. It's a devastatingly pertinent song quote. 

Because I know what it means. To miss New Orleans. The moonlight on the Bayou. The creole tune that fills the air. I dream about magnolias in bloom, and I'm wishing I was there. <Louis Armstrong>