The Seasoned Couch...

Fine Art Friday #63

It was too quiet.

And if you’ve got little kids, you know exactly what that means. Silence in a house full of children is less peace and more pending chaos.

I turned the corner into our living room, and there he was—my son—standing proudly beside the couch like he had just finished a great work of art.

Only instead of paint or crayons or even a sticker collage, his medium of choice?
Vulcan’s. Fire. Salt.

A full dusting of spicy, blazing, volcanic red powder across the couch cushions.
Down the sides. In the cracks. On the throw pillows. A Jackson Pollock of capsaicin.

I opened my mouth, probably to say something motherly and wise (or possibly to shriek), but then I saw his face. The pride. The pure confidence that he had done something good. Something beautiful. Something bold.

And honestly? He kinda had.

Because isn’t that what art is sometimes? Making a mess. Taking a risk. Using the materials in front of you—even if they happen to be artisan fire salt intended for grown-up food and not upholstery?

I vacuumed. I wiped. I may or may not have muttered something about “lava dust.” But I also laughed. Because parenting—like painting—isn’t about perfect control.

It’s about learning how to live with the unexpected.
How to pivot.
How to clean up and still love the room you’re in.

Art Tip of the Week:
Not everything goes to plan. Sometimes your canvas warps. Your paint bleeds. Or your kid seasons the furniture.
But that’s okay. Because the most memorable pieces—the ones with texture and story and heart—are rarely pristine.

Let the fire salt stay in the story.
Not as a disaster, but as a reminder: we’re here, we’re living, and we’re making things that matter (even if we have to sit on a spicy cushion to do it).

xo,
Courtney

P.S. If you have a couch-cleaning miracle product, I’m all ears. And if not—at least my living room smells very bold.