My creative process.
Case in point: Yesterday I find this t-shirt in a bag for old rags and proceed to make my mom a pillow. Why? Because bitch loves to nap. After cutting out my pattern, stuffing with toilet paper and sealing it shut with a liberal application of white glue I present it dripping and beautiful to my mother.
Does she scoop me up and smother me with kisses of gratitude? Does she praise my environmentally friendly use of reclaimed objects? Nope. She FREAKS. According to her the t-shirt got into the rag bag by mistake! This shirt, she says, was some sort of “memento” from her days when she did stand-up comedy in the 90’s. Hard to believe my mom was involved in anything having to do with standing up. Most of the time she’s sprawled out on the couch whining about how tired she is.
This women is continuously stifling my artistic growth — like suggesting that things that are glued should be left to dry…why wait for it to dry?! Art should be fluid!
I guess the crux of the situation is my mom is waaaay to possessed by her possessions. Parents need to be taught a lesson about ‘letting go.’ That’s why, every now and then, I like to f-up their sh*t. They’ll thank me later.