(A love story between me, vintage wood, and questionable estate‑sale decisions.)

If you’ve ever wondered where all my frames come from — the answer is simple:

Everywhere. Thrift stores. Vintage shops. Estate sales. Random corners of random houses where someone says, “Oh, there are more frames in the back if you want to look.”

And of course I want to look. I always want to look.

🖼️ The Hunt

Thrifting frames is not a hobby. It’s a sport. A lifestyle. A calling.

I walk into a thrift store like a detective entering a crime scene — scanning the walls, the shelves, the floor, the weird bin in the corner that looks like it hasn’t been touched since 1974.

I’m looking for:

• mid‑century lines

• interesting textures

• weird shapes

• colors that make me think “I can work with that”

• frames that have lived a life and are ready for a second one

Sometimes I find a gem immediately. Sometimes I find nothing. Sometimes I find something so strange I buy it just to figure out why it exists.

📏 The Sorting Ritual

Once I get home, the real chaos begins.

I lay all the frames out by size — 8x10, 5x7, 11x14 — like I’m running a tiny frame dealership on my bed. (Yes, my bed. Yes, this has caused problems. Yes, I have slept surrounded by frames. No, I don’t want to talk about it.)

Then I pull out my canvas boards and start matching them like I’m on a dating show:

“This one has potential.” “This one is too chaotic.” “This one is perfect but needs therapy.” “This one is going to be a problem but I love it anyway.”

When the pairings are right, I move on to color.

🎨 The Color Match

Every frame has a personality. Some are bold. Some are quiet. Some are screaming “PAINT ME GREEN” — which is convenient, because green is my favorite and I overuse it constantly.

I choose colors based on:

• the vibe of the frame

• the era it came from

• the mood I’m in

• the amount of coffee I’ve had

• whether or not a cat is sitting on it

Once the colors are chosen, I prep the canvas, paint the backgrounds, and start working on multiple pieces at once — usually five or six.

While two or three are drying, I move on to the next. It’s a rotation system. A dance. A chaotic ballet performed in silence because I don’t turn the TV on until 4 or 5.

🐈 The Cat Interference

Of course, the cats are heavily involved in this process.

Noah inspects the frames. Tessy supervises. GG sneaks up behind me like a furry ninja and drinks from my cups.

They walk across the bed. They sit on the frames. They judge my choices. They contribute nothing and take credit for everything.

It’s a collaborative environment.

🏁 The Final Week Before Market

This is where things get… intense.

I check every piece to make sure:

• the canvas is secure

• the frame is clean

• the signature is on

• the tails and whiskers are actually there

• the price tags are attached

• the cats haven’t stolen anything

It’s chaos. It’s stressful. It’s loud (mostly because of the wind). But it’s also the best part — because everything comes together.

And then, on market day, someone walks into the booth, points at a piece, and says:

“Oh my gosh, I love this frame.”

And suddenly, every questionable decision was worth it.

Meow for now,

Jeffey