(via a subtle revelry)
For the longest time, I used to step over a little black widow spider web as I walked in and out my sliding door to my back patio. It wasn't that I was content in letting the little spider nest at my doorstep, but rather that I thought it was easier to take giant exaggerated steps over my doorstep than to deal with the obvious problem at hand. Until one night I was up late outside spray painting some clay figures I had just made when I stepped barefoot into the spiderweb! After a momentary freakout (like high pitch shrieking, running around in circles/triangles/hexagons, flailing my infected leg around - freakout), I grabbed the closest weapon (my can of white primer spray paint) and attacked with full force. And when it was all over, I was standing before this little web that was flecked with a million drops of microscopic white paint. And in the center hanging from a string was a tiny curled up dead spider entirely encased in white paint. It was all so morbidly beautiful and surreally peaceful. I don't think I've ever had a moment of complete clarity, but that is what I would imagine it would feel like. I had the intention to spend the next morning's sunlight to take photos of it, but it was so windy that night that everything blew away before I could document it. I had almost entirely forgot about it all until I saw this DIY on dipping brightly colored faux flowers in white plaster. They have the same sort of terrible, quiet beauty that my spider had. It's nice to be reminded of the beauty I saw that night in the spiders nest and to be reminded to always look for the exquisite elegance that comes with (the often unexpected) moments of life.