Making beautiful...

...is important.
I've made beautiful all my life. It's part of my makeup. It started with scratching a cheery little person in a triangle dress onto my veneer wardrobe and signing it with my name at around age four. I remember it clearly. I blamed my brother.
I soon progressed to dressing dolls, then making their clothes. The dolls house was made beautiful with a complete reflooring in hand colored, measured and cut (paper) linoleum. Black and white checkerboard for the bathroom, of course.
As the years progressed my making beautiful skills grew. With a crafty, stay home Mum and accomplished crafting Gran I became quite clever at knitting, crocheting, sewing and generally turning crap into loveliness.
As an adolescent I started making my hair beautiful (in my then, anti-establishment eyes) by applying every shade I could lay my hands on in Priceline.
I was like a kid in a candy shop when given the opportunity to select my first, grownup bedroom colour scheme. I went with lemon yellow with magenta trim and was greeted with aghast faces and pleas for something less bold from my parents. I moved out, they kept the colour. It still looks awesome.
As a proper grown up I've applied the making beautiful to my clothes, my house, my kids and my food. I still craft and I've always, always made beautiful by drawing. Lots. Since I could grip a crayon in my fat little hand.
However, there's always been a distinct brush off from society about such fripperies. Spending time making lovely things and making things look lovely is often seen as unimportant, lacking purpose or devoid of meaning.
I shan't hear such such poo-pooing anymore because I think making beautiful runs much deeper. Beauty is far more important.
When my house is a mess and there are toys strewn carelessly everywhere, I feel agitated. When the garden is thick with weeds and the sky above is nothing but a dense layer of grey beguck, I feel miserable. When we drive through an industrial area I feel despair at the lack of beauty.
On the other hand, when the sun shines on my face and lights up the world, I feel uplifted. When the couch is fluffed up plump and the cushions plonked neatly I feel calm.
When I look upon a freshly baked cake with it's happy pink icing and glittery sprinkles I feel happy, too.
My cherubs are truly enough on their own, but dressing them up all cutesy does bring an extra special smile to my dial.
Arranging and admiring my house full of kitschy bits uplifts me. Making beautiful from junk and other bits and bobs remains a constant and gives me a deep sense of well being. Sharing the activity with my kids or giving the goodies as gifts makes it all that bit better ( and I really can't fit everything I make in the house).
I read somewhere about the key to happiness being found in a freshly made bed. I get that. It's a simple form of beauty and gives the sense that when everything is going to hell in a hand basket, things WILL be ok. When the kids are screaming and hitting each other on the head with pieces of Fisher Price, a lovely vase of flowers provides solace.
I wonder if communities situated in beautiful settings are happier. Surely looking out into the tropical blue ocean with a frangipani in your hair would make even the crappiest days a bit shinier.
So, let's make the world a better place and make lovely stuff from bits of discarded yuck. Craft like the well being of the planet depends on it. Fill your home with pretty things and suck up the sunshine on a fine day. Plant flowers, hang pictures and doing something tricky with your hair. Give the cushions a fluff up, vacuum the floor and bake a cake.
But most of all if you don't take it too seriously, things won't seem so serious.