Blessed are those living in an unfinished house for there is the magnificance of conversion and the strength of stability under one roof

I've been thinking a lot about home as monastary: letting our built environment and our daily tools sing our attention toward the deep mysteries of life. 

 photo by Texture Photo

photo by Texture Photo

See that Carri Jobe painting on the wall?  I love how it holds space.  That is what it teaches me every time I look at it.  

I'm letting my fascination  with simplicity and the restraint of modern architecture smudge with that thing in me that needs to make marks.  This is mostly about my underdeveloped ability to let paradox exist.  

Despite my admiration for the pages of Dwell, I can't leave my walls alone or my furniture unpainted.  I keep wanting to pile on clashing color and pattern.  And so I'm letting myself experiment and play, reveling in the process of manipulating my environment and the ways this space can speak to the monk in me.  Sure I wear leggings as pants and am a little Pinterest frivilous but I'm cultivating my monk-self a Lauds at a time.

 There's an art show in there somewhere but for now there is tea to brew, a kitchen to tidy, and clothes to launder.  This will be my song.