Gretchen taped a banana peel to her forehead and declared herself ‘The Artful Dodger’ before knocking over a jar of glue. The garage smelled like turpentine and regret as she attempted to fuse a bicycle wheel with a disco ball, yelling, ‘This is *modern art*, not a raccoon’s nest!’ Her cat, Sir Whiskers III, knocked over her acrylics, which splattered the wall in concentric circles of neon pink. ‘You sabotaged my vision!’ Gretchen wailed, then paused. The pink blobs looked like abstract jellyfish. She grabbed a palette knife and started scraping them into shape. By noon, the wall was a mosaic of paint, duct tape, and a single sock. Her neighbor, Mr. Pritchard, knocked. ‘Is this a fire?’ he asked, eyeing the smoke from her soldering iron. ‘It’s *installation art*,’ she said, waving a flaming brush. The sock flew off the wall, landing in a puddle of varnish. Gretchen stared. Then she added it to the collage. ‘Perfect,’ she whispered. The garage now resembled a psychedelic beehive. Sir Whiskers III napped atop a stack of canvases, unimpressed. Gretchen poured herself a glass of wine, slathered her face in poster paint, and posed for a selfie. The caption: ‘When your DIY fails, make it a *vibe*.’
