Artists?!

I have a good friend who is an artist. She dabbles in many mediums and everything she does is amazing! I belong to that pathetic group of people that have a hard time making stick people look right. To say I worship her abilities is pretty strong but to say I admire them is weak. So my feelings towards her talents are somewhere in between.
Recently, I spent an afternoon in her home. The miles between us as well as our too busy lives prevent this from being a regular occurrence. I love her home. It is so like her. The house itself is simple. She has filled it with things she loves. She would be the first to say that filled is an understatement. With her artistic, Victorian, romantic style she has used every inch of space.
Her walls are covered in works of art. Some are small, some large. Some are hers, most are other artist’s work. Some are originals, some are reproductions. It is like walking through a favorite art gallery. There are sculptures of all sizes within and without the home.
Most of her furniture is antique. Again, it is everywhere. If most of us tried to copy her style, we’d look like we should be on that hoarders show. She pulls it off beautifully! (I did accuse her of having a sadistic streak when I used the toilet-an old, ornate, large mirror is on the wall facing the toilet- can’t say I enjoyed the view as I did my business.)
Upon arriving home, I looked around to see what my environment says about me. My house is simple. I have surrounded myself with things that I love. I, too, have antiques. Whereas her home looked like an art gallery or museum or upscale shop, mine is best classified as “shabby chic”. I love old, worn, faded things.( My kids would tell you I rescue junk.)
If something comes into my house it must be able to do work. It also can’t require lots of care. The first thing most people notice is that very few things in my house do the work they were meant to. An antique chest holds our firewood. A large pickle crock holds pinecones which we use for kindling, etc.
When I see things, I don’t see what they are- I see what they can become. For instance, a 60’s type bunk bed ladder is horizontal on the wall. It is used as a picture shelf. Several antique wooden levels are used in a similar fashion. The inside carry cases that once belonged in trunks now adorn my walls as shelves. You get the idea.
But this particular day, I saw something I had never really noticed before. She, as an artist, has surrounded herself with color, texture, and art. I, as a writer, have surrounded myself with words! Books are everywhere. My walls have plaques with favorite sayings, reminders of who I want to be- Believe, Faith, Give Thanks in All Things, Dream, See the Possibilities, etc. I have a very old embroidered serenity prayer hanging. There are scripture quotes in frames.
I realized that just as her home reflects her- mine, too, says a lot about who I am. She paints pictures with oils- I paint them with words. So, who cares if I can’t draw stick people?
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?