It was a crazy idea, but a crazy idea born out of desperation to do something about our aging, crumbling, eyesore of a former hotel, former hardware store building.
Every day I walked by the cracked, dirty, hand lettered plate glass windows. Every day I wondered when someone was going to finish the job of breaking them out or when a storm would come along and send a branch through the four windows that still had their glass – mostly.
It was a crazy idea, but I could see in my mind’s eye something that we could at least not be ashamed of.
Something that would cover the eyesore and bring a smile to my face (selfishly) as I walk by them every day.
My husband is an artist – in words, with a pencil drawing, and now I know with a paintbrush. From my rudimentary idea, he created bright sunny flowers on sheets of plywood.
With the help of two friends – Jarrin Rudd and Michael Bugg, we carried them out of the back conference room – his temporary studio – and mounted them over the windows.
He was so inspired he even wrote a poem to celebrate the “Rural Renaissance Art”. (see companion piece of that name)
We may ever be as poor as two country mice, but as long as he can wield a paintbrush, we have color and light and flowers.
Envy me. I am the luckiest of wives.