The 1970s Called and Wants it’s Owl Back

I still don’t know what I think about this owl. I know one thing, I like him a zillion times better than I did when I found him. Brace yourself, it’s creepy…

It killed me to buy this owl. First of all, it was $10, a huge amount when the very sight of something makes you want to drop it on the parking lot of the goodwill in hopes it will crash into a million tiny shards. Secondly, did I mention it’s ugly and evil and those TALONS and those eyes and that orange and brown and yellow and cream?

Thirdly, he is HUGE. That’s my hand grabbing for him hoping to get to crash him to the tile floor in a million tiny shards.

BUT.

But, I knew a can of spray paint held great potential. And there are some pretty owls out there. And ten dollars is a small price to pay to further school oneself in deepening the knowledge of makeover results.  If I never take a little risk and see what happens, I’ll never learn.  I’ll never be able to look at something in the thrift store and say YES, world, I can make that beautiful.  And really, you never know for sure until you do it anyway.

So there he is back there all perched up on my library table ready to use his talons and carry my children away, not to worry, if he tries anything I can smash him. And don’t tell him but I kind of like his regal, unassuming massive self. White spray paint is the Botox of the design world.

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