Marley hummed absentmindedly as she took each individual jar of raspberry jam to make sure its lid had been charmed on properly. Canning was quite possibly her favorite activity that did not involve paint. She felt blessed as this year had been a prosperous for their various harvests. She levitated her lot of jars towards their pantry and started cleaning the kitchen.
One might have been tempted to ask Marley how a workspace dedicated to making raspberry jam could be covered in flour. But those were not concerns that the blonde found particularly interesting given that to her the answer was quite obvious. Much sooner than one would have thought the blonde was done cleaning and was taking off her apron.
Soon her new artist would arrive and would require most of her attention. While most called what she did art therapy, she found the expression daunting, almost insulting. As if art was not always a therapeutic endeavor. Marley was more inclined to see it as simply providing an artistic space while having conversations that could only be fruitful when channeled through art. A load of information had been offered when the young man had been referred to her, but Marley had simply nodded without listening to the information provided. She knew this approach was not conventional, but as far as she was concerned getting to know an artist herself, without the prejudgements of others, was far more conductive than welcoming them with precooked notions.