. . . started another purge

This time, it's of my closet. I am blessed with an obscenely large walk-in closet. . . it actually has two rooms, five poles on which to hang clothing, a wall of shelves and a built-in dresser for storage. It is also the laundry room, where the washer and dryer live. When we moved here a few years ago, I was accustomed to having the laundry area in the basement; having it upstairs off the master bath is a wonderful idea.


Considering that, probably six out of seven days a week, I wear paint-splattered old clothes that I have retrieved from my son's stash of clothing he outgrew in high school, to my way of thinking these days, it is a crime that every single space in that closet is filled to bursting with stuff. So it's time. . . time to get rid of things, to find things back, to give things away. I found a quote yesterday that describes me perfectly. It is in the book "The Art Thief" by Noah Charney. "(She) was of the hybrid sort of obsessive-compulsive who need a correct place for everything, but never actually keep anything in that place." I am a whiz at categorizing and sorting things out, but maintenance after that is my problem.


I started slowly yesterday. . . just one rod's worth of clothing. . . blouses, T-shirts, hoodies, etc. My organizational piles: winter, summer, transitional, give away, toss. Winter stuff got put back on the rod, organized by color, black at the right end of the pole, then gray, navy, blue, red, pink, yellow, and white at the left end. See, obsessive-compulsive. I left the rest of the stuff, the summer, transitional, etc., on the floor in piles. I will spend time today doing another rod. I found things I have never worn, things that still had the tag on them. Stupid. Every time I do this, I pledge that I will buy not one more article of clothing. But you know, sometimes there's a sale and the thing is just so insanely inexpensive that you would idiotic not to buy it. . .


I do foresee a problem, though. The back room of the closet has all of my old professional work clothes. They are nice and were expensive: suits, dresses, dress slacks, blazers, jackets, coats. When I was working I dressed very well. . . until the end, when I didn't give a shit and that should have been a clue that things were getting out of hand. I feel like I should keep them because what if I have to go back to work? In an office? And what if I have to be professional again? Of course if that should happen the stuff will be sadly dated and out of style, but still. . . it has happened too many times, and I feel like I would be tempting fate. Like the minute I got rid of the stuff, I would be fated to be required to get a job. I have given my daughter as much of the stuff as she wants (Stef, if you read this, you're welcome to more if you want it), thinking if I need it, she'll give it back. But it's been six years. . .


As to art, the above is a picture of the painting I finished last night. For some reason it is one of my favorites. I used the sand medium on the black portion; the left upper corner is the fiber paste medium. There is a lot of texture, but it is more subtle than the texture of the spray foam. The art rep says paintings with bright happy colors sell the best; but sometimes I don't want to paint bright happy colors. Maybe the blue will be bright enough, though who in their right minds is buying art these days anyway?