The antonym of worthless is priceless and it is a strange thing to own one thing that is both. Strange, yet, but not rare. Look around you. I'm looking around me. What do we see?

When I left New York I sold or gave away anything that didn't fit in my two door Honda Civic. I excused that I kept every bit of wall art I had by the fact that many of my pieces were priceless to me, given to me, painted for me, found for me. See, most of the colors on my walls are framed by the relationships they represent. And with those relationships come seasons of my life.

There is framed watercolor of tiered gardens in Nepal on handmade paper. We were there, together, we two; those two weeks contained a conversation that forever goes down in our minds as a make it or break it point. I see those watercolors and know that my life is as blended with hers as those colors are into that textured paper.

There is the print by my favorite artist, a simple limited edition illustration found by a boy whose attention to detail still astounds me. The glass in that frame broke recently and I nearly cried. Glass is replaceable, I know. Some things are not though. That same boy did a small acrylic of his own of a famous mountaineer, but we just call him The Blue Man.

Two girls, one in red and one in blue. You and Me they are titled by the giver. Me leans against a tree; You swings almost vertical in the sky. So apropos for we two, me lingering back always, it seems, her moving quickly and confidently, it seems. These two belong together always, like our friendship.

An enormous poppy above my bed, my nod to modern art and two friends nod to my favorite flower and as of then, undiscovered love for all things orange.

A small framed Picasso, a surprise find at the flea market, given to me and hung on the walls in the Little Blue Office back home. I felt bad taking it down when I moved, like it was a part of the room somehow and I was stripping it of all traces of me. But now I look back and see how that office needed to be stripped of me and is now filled with new nuances looking forward.

A watercolor done by some high-school student and scavenged by an old roommate. His teacher thought it deserved and A- and we always balked at that. We think art can't be graded.

There is so much more, art by burgeoning artists, art by a four year old on our fridge, a copied permanent marker poster of Picasso's Don Quixote in our bathroom, charcoal and watercolor women from Asian counties I've visited.

All of it worthless to any trained eye.

All of it priceless.
To me.

day one of 30 day challenge put down by one Jason Allen Churchill Thorburne Morris.