The beauty of my [your] messy desk

  I've always had a messy desk.  Just ask my mom.  In first grade, Ms. Abel (who wore the most fabulously 90's bedazzled outfits with matching pins) called my mother in for an intense intervention where I was forced to show her what had become of my little elementary school creak up the top desk.  I remember being quite embarrassed and not understanding how it had happened.  Papers were crunched in the back corners that should have been brought home.  There were pencils, eraser, crayola washable markers, and probably a few fruit snack packets.  We used to make patterns with Elmer's glue in the morning (hearts, stars were for the elite) and then peal them off after recess (sometimes with a layer of the paint from the inside of the desk).  My mom and I cleaned it out and put everything in its place.  The notebooks and books were stacked in descending size order. My crayons, markers, glue all together in a little special row.  And, my pencils were all sharpened and lined together in the happy pencil ledge. 
Thus began my strife to keep a clean desk. 
  It hasn't gone well.  And, today, I am going to make a very sassy declaration.  It is cool to have a messy desk (yeah, I said it).  Now, there are some people in my life (my husby included) who have meticulously-kept desks, and are cool, too.  But I reject the notion that I have a messy life because I have a perpetually messy desk.  [Aside: I do feel really happy for the five minutes after I've cleaned my desk.  But, as my students would say, let's be for realz: I'm not really a tidy desk kind of cat.]
One time, I heard a really great quote that I thought resonated with my thoughts because it was a part of my ridiculous justification [read: bargaining] of having a messy desk.  It went something like, a messy desk belongs to a creative mind.  True, true.  I have a creative mind, for sure.  I also have a little OCD, though, so the part of me who wants everything just so fought with the idea. 
   But then, a few weeks ago, while I was working late, I stood up to start to clear my desk (I'm sure I'm judged at work for my messy desk, but as Dr. Suess said, "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."  [another aside: I believe in thoughtful actions and words, I just think that if someone thinks I'm lesser for my messy desk, they don't really matter to my identity.]  So, I started tidying up my desk to achieve my five minutes of very temporary post-clean happiness and I had a beauty moment.  My desk was like a piece of art, a still-life, literally.  And, it can only be this deep piece of art to ME.  MY desk.  My things, put there from my fingers, in my life, in this time, in this amazing job of being a teacher.  I spend many many hours at this desk, and I have a messy, yet beautiful "process" of really living at my spot in the world.  I'd love to take a trip back and take a picture of that first grader's desk and all of my messy desks since then.  They'd be more raw than diary entries. 
  Enjoy YOUR messy desks, my creative friends!  [hopefully this post will not haunt me as I pursue being a prop stylist.  eek!]

  [not: before looking at these pictures, understand that this is WAY messier than usual (seriously).  I had reached a pinnacle of messiness.]  But instead of judging myself, I would like to work on having a balanced messy-meets-creativity working space and embracing the fact that I HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MESSY DESK.

This is the SECOND before I gasped and said, "Okay, this is pretty bad, I need mom and Ms. Abel again to get me back on track."

The most dramatic revelation of my messy nature: the two plastic spoons in my tea cup and the fallen kleenex box.  Why?  Why not just put the kleenex box where it won't continually fall?  Idunno.

My normal beautiful mess does include this cup with it's handmade paper flower made from book pages (from a student), my pink ribbons, and favorite green papermate pens in a cute Target mug.

My desk isn't the only messy yet beautiful creative thing.  My Paper Source planner also reveals my secret.

Seeing Beauty Runs in the Family

Not until I was older, did I discover what a creative childhood I led.  There were strange and insightful paintings all around our house, on every wall.  I remember meeting my dad's artist friends with their hippy beards and sweet dispositions.  I was always encouraged to create.

Things have come full circle.  I had the privilege to meet all of my dad's "art people" as an adult pursuing art and beauty, and it was inspiring.  The last time my dad had an art show was before I remember... so, maybe twenty five years ago?  And, a few weeks ago, I got to experience a blessed day for him.  OnView, a new art gallery opened on the North side of Chicagoland, and my dad's pieces were part of their first show.  His speech was raw and vulnerable, and it was poignant.  As he would say, "Great balance."



A compilation of my dad's life drawing, fine line etchings, and watercolors greet guests.



I was able to see some of my dad's most amazing work on display [** with the little placards that name the piece, name the price, and listed his name!**]  What a joy.  I know I inherited a legacy of beauty-revealing from my dad. 

The details of the bolts on the old dock are my favorite detail of this watercolor, which sold.