Oops… My ‘chaos’ playlist is on

chaos playlist

I chew a piece of minty gum, hands planted firmly on my hips, a 2012 Pitbull throwback blasting through my wired headphones.

I stand, head tilted sideways, looking at the paint splattered across the canvas.

The lines are too dark, or are they maybe too straight? The colors clash, don’t they?

It’s ugly as hell — fuck.

I take a break from painting and click through the songs on my phone. Me lo paro el taxi—no. You call me Mr. Boombastic—hot, but no. TAKE ME HOMEEEEEE COUNTRY ROADS—definitely not.

My Spotify-curated “Chaos” playlist is on—an insight into the jungle that is my brain.

life lately

I’ve been pouring into my apartment for the last few months. A little lamp here, a side table there, some plates for good measure—these paintings are the icing on the cake.

As much as I want to support artists by buying original pieces, my bank account is a little less equipped to support my ambition. The little girl with the portfolio of her favorite drawings grew up into a young adult, intently sketching a live model in art school—she made a resurgence this month in Paris as well.

I leave the paintings at my place—I’ll come back to them later. I throw my pack of gum and wired headphones into my bag and run out the door.

My sunglasses color the world sepia as my bike navigates around the curbs and cars and cafés of Paris —faster still, until the scene blurs around me.

chez moi

This last year, I’ve mounted horses in Puerto Rico, peered over the Dom Luís Bridge in Porto, dived into a London pub, screamed into the wind in Switzerland, and walked through the cobbled streets of Lisbon—but there will always be something magical about coming back into your own space.

The soft golden glow from the Moroccan straw lamp I scoured Etsy for, the varied textures of the cushions I picked out at the base of a Swiss mountain, the clink of the ceramic tiles I painted in Porto—my home is mine, built piece by piece, a beautifully cluttered amalgamation of my taste, my experiences, my culture, my people—me.

Maybe the important place isn’t the one you go to, it’s the one you come back to.

It’s a week later. I look at the finished canvases hanging in my living room as I chew a piece of mint gum, hands in the back pockets of my shorts, a 2012 Drake throwback blasting through my headphones.

chaos playlist