I gripe and I complain about my husband’s record collection. If I am not careful, he may have a reason to return the grumbles. Over the past year or so, I have become obsessed with small art. I have a hoarder like plan to do a gallery wall with them in my dining room. 8″ x 8″ is as large as I allow my ordering finger. I have collected a Salvadorian wood carved last supper, a 1930’s textile print kitchen scene, and a Victorian needlework of a mother and child. There’s the Ecuadorian pueblo painting on a wooden tray, a 1940’s photos of coal miners making music….it goes on and on.
This could get out of control. The only thing that keeps me from going insane with it is that I have to feel drawn to it. Otherwise, I might as well go to Wal-Mart and buy some badly printed piece of framed cardboard found hanging in 750,000 other households. While awaiting the more than likely power outage, I did a little window shopping. Click the picture and swoon. I’ve gathered my Christmas wish list into one really amazing little treasury.