Natasha hates drying dishes, so when it’s her turn to do the washing up I joke that she’s building a jenga pile. Usually by the time I get there with a dishcloth the heap is a teetering tower, and pulling any of the dishes is a gamble that might cause an avalanche.
It was my turn last night, and rather than dry as I went I decided I’d give her a taste of her own medicine. 🙂 This is my monument to evaporation, my masterpiece of awkward dish stacking. I like to think the dishpile as a philosophical ideal was always there, and I simply expressed it as a physical manifestation. This may be my greatest accomplishment as an artist.