The Distance Between Two Points

There is, actually, a connection between these disparate, simultaneous urges I've had lately to worship all that is mediterranean and blue, and want all that is autumn-y and crisp:

My very new, very own craft room.

This weekend, Rick and I picked up rollers and painted. In a flash – and really, it was the fastest, fuss free-est painting we have ever done – the back room was transformed from its pasty white primer to the softest, warmest blue. Which is also, I discover, a blue of many hues; by turns steely gray, pale violet, and chalky spring-sky. It is almost its own mood ring or amazing Technicolor dreamcoat.

I am fascinated by it. I will even sneak away to the room at random times of day just to see what color it is right at that moment.

It’s rare when I become this attached to a paint color I’ve picked. While true that I normally like them enough, generally speaking, once the allure of new color has faded, I am left with little more than a painted wall. You know? Sort of ho hum, here I am in the room with green walls. And: that thing you can’t find? Did you check inside the pink room? Never before have I loved a color to the point that I've found myself wishing to be inside the room whenever I'm not.

Unfortunately, I lack the photographic mojo required to begin to capture this blue for you. I have tried, in different lights, at different times of day, with different camera settings, to provide you the sort of proof required to assure you that I am not crazy on paint fumes over here.

This, however, is a task that demands the mastery of Jen Gotch. I am thoroughly inadequate for the job. As inadequate as I am at describing the millionty-one shades of blue and blue-violet of this hydrangea flower, which is also responsible for stimulating my recent over-interest in blue. Though the attempt provides its own satisfactions, if I do say so myself.

So this blue on my walls has awakened in me a sort of blue worship. Which feels a bit taboo actually, growing up as I did in a very anti-blue house.

Really.

I’m not sure what exactly it was my mother thought she was avoiding; maybe one of those overdone, smoky blue, country-themed houses that spread like viruses through the suburbs? Or could it be that she just really, to the core of her being, dislikes blue and all that blue stands for? Impossible, I think; I shake my head at that. But maybe, I guess.

At any rate, loving blue feels like a rebellion. – I can already hear what my mom will say about the new paint the first time she sees it: “Well, it’s nice enough, dear. If you like it. Not a color I would ever pick though.” – Almost as if, by painting my little room this shade, I have lifted a loud, defiant middle finger to my history and my upbringing. Which makes me laugh.

But this blue is also inspiring. Not necessarily the rebellion part – I fear I’m too old to be energized much by that – but more the transformative part. The way the color itself transforms to new levels of beauty throughout the day. The way it has transformed the room into a space that invites creativity. And the way that the simple choice of blue has transformed me.

Which brings me to my yearning for autumn. This blue has inaugurated for me the era of the craft room. (Craft! Room! I squee, on the inside.) And it is a delightful place to be.

So I am ready for you, Fall. I have the space now. Space enough to accommodate all your demands for the making of things that are warm and cozy. I have a room with a sewing table and a comfy chair, and I’m happy to sit there all day.

Please hurry along now. Won’t you?