I’ve always had a soft spot for interior design. I love peeking in at the little havens people create for themselves, bearing witness to the miniscule details that transform any space into what people come to call home. 

Unfortunately, I can’t be called the artsy-type; my eye is anything but keen, my not-so-strong sense of vision doesn’t let me see the outset of a project, and I can always rely on my natural inability to handle a pencil, brush, glue gun, pliers, exacto knife, scissors, ruler, playdough, and pretty much anything else to craft something that is anything but remotely artistic. 

But this year is all about pushing boundaries; getting my hands dirty. And I’ll let you sit front and center, tomatoes in hand and at the ready, as I roll up my sleeves in preparation for what is bound to be, as people call it, an “epic fail”!

This idea of setting myself up for public humiliation came to me when I stumbled upon a dusty box of old vinyl records when cleaning out my closet. And then it happened, I was inspired. Inspired to make something out of this pile of junk, even if that just meant turning it into some new form of junk. This box I picked up on a street corner on St-Jean street. Perched atop a heap of garbage waiting to be rescued, I gallantly carried it five blocks to my humble abode where I offered it refuge from those who no longer cared for the musical qualities its 52 occupants once possessed. Not even “James Last’s Polka-Party” could sell its curvy vinyl body at the discount rate of a dollar to escape the confines of being labelled a deadbeat, outdated beatnik. That is, until now.

So this week, I’m going to be breaking records. Literally….

And hopefully artistically.

This week I’m going to be breaking records, artistically..

Oh gosh wish me luck…