Proceed with caution
We made four signs, one for each wall. I post them at 2am when I get up, thinking it is 5am in Seattle's September darkenss. To the left of the door: "Authenticity" becomes almost invisible, tacked on the white pegboard. Straight ahead beside the south window, "Truth." To the right where art books and the sewing table stand, "Openness." And beside the entry, between the mirrored closet doors, "Freedom."
I choose the theme "Potential" for a room of my own, the office at the end of the hall. When I look at the map again, I realize my inner north-south orientation has mucked up my sense of direction. The map is written upside down for where I sit to write. So I have to redo not only the sign on one wall, but every single one.
My action reflects the process of sitting with CL at a coffee shop and drawing up the plan. At the last minute, we moved every label, and when I post the signs on the walls of my office, I have returned to the original map. The process reminds me of the autopilot of driving without mindfulness, ending up at a default destination if we're not careful to pay attention to the destination.
"What do you get out of this?" I asked when CL and I parted. "The process and a record of how it worked." As a writer, I am certain to capture this journey of recreating my space.
My friend is coming over in about a month to help me rework the space, after my first push of Sept/Oct events and event planning ends. Between, there's an alumni reunion, a fundraiser, a fundraising dinner at home, a conference in Ocean Shores, a faculty barbecue, a friendship group night. Just seeing the list makes my mind whir in protest. I am supposed to be writing PhD papers and a dissertation proposal. I say I want to be writing, but my job and obligations have pulled me in so many directions since summer that my scholarly writing is paralyzed. The room redo is intended to give me a space for intention and reflection and peaceful work.
I get up to move the signs to opposite walls. Now the "Openness" wall which will hold the vision of the room is to the left of the entry. My search for that wall is an art piece of a long table. My vision is being part of the Christian communion table, with Christ at the center and his disciples around - with all the potential, talents, experiences, learning we acquire from life and knowing God. On the map, "PhD Exam Passed" and "PhD Accepted." Those are the goals for this room, creative expression through gathering, sorting, sifting, and capturing the dissertation.
The "Freedom" wall straight ahead will be devoted to writing. My desk sits under a south window where I can draw maximum light for soul survival during the grey Seattle winter. My job is to clear and wash the window and its sill and to declutter under the desk where a monotype print machine and picture frames push against my feet. Bisecting the room, within arm's reach of my chair, are two bookcases of theology, culture, and inspiration.
The "Authenticity" wall to the right will host my art space. The theme is art. I am no longer interested in crafting, so when our boarder moves in December, the "crafty" sewing machine, cardstock, and crafting supplies that survive the cull will move into the next room. In red ink, I have written "Craft" on my map... with a big X through it.
CL has written "Watercolor" and I begin to cry when I see the word, overwhelmed by the longing to paint my heart out in a time when I am smothered by obligations and pieces of chaos. I glance at the two paintings to the left of my writing window, botanicals painted in Cambridge that comfort my harried soul. Maybe I can carve out time to paint again in this coming year. The current anchor on this wall is tattered pieces of calligraphy samples, taped onto a framed poster of Greece left behind by my daughter. I can do better.
"Truth," Sharpee'd on an index card, folds as I press it between the moldings of the two mirrored doors. The open closets show a heap of "obligations" on the left and on the right, "hope" -- canvases, wedding and Christmas gifts, a French easel, and blocking it all, a file of choir music. The long ribbons of taped scores curl in wait in the stocky black box, functional and resented. The theme of this wall is storage, anchored by mirrors.
One last glance at the signs, "Freedom" just above my view. I lift my eyes to the letters promising clarity and relief. Thank you, God, for CL in this season. Bless the work of her hands and mine.
I choose the theme "Potential" for a room of my own, the office at the end of the hall. When I look at the map again, I realize my inner north-south orientation has mucked up my sense of direction. The map is written upside down for where I sit to write. So I have to redo not only the sign on one wall, but every single one.
My action reflects the process of sitting with CL at a coffee shop and drawing up the plan. At the last minute, we moved every label, and when I post the signs on the walls of my office, I have returned to the original map. The process reminds me of the autopilot of driving without mindfulness, ending up at a default destination if we're not careful to pay attention to the destination.
"What do you get out of this?" I asked when CL and I parted. "The process and a record of how it worked." As a writer, I am certain to capture this journey of recreating my space.
My friend is coming over in about a month to help me rework the space, after my first push of Sept/Oct events and event planning ends. Between, there's an alumni reunion, a fundraiser, a fundraising dinner at home, a conference in Ocean Shores, a faculty barbecue, a friendship group night. Just seeing the list makes my mind whir in protest. I am supposed to be writing PhD papers and a dissertation proposal. I say I want to be writing, but my job and obligations have pulled me in so many directions since summer that my scholarly writing is paralyzed. The room redo is intended to give me a space for intention and reflection and peaceful work.
I get up to move the signs to opposite walls. Now the "Openness" wall which will hold the vision of the room is to the left of the entry. My search for that wall is an art piece of a long table. My vision is being part of the Christian communion table, with Christ at the center and his disciples around - with all the potential, talents, experiences, learning we acquire from life and knowing God. On the map, "PhD Exam Passed" and "PhD Accepted." Those are the goals for this room, creative expression through gathering, sorting, sifting, and capturing the dissertation.
The "Freedom" wall straight ahead will be devoted to writing. My desk sits under a south window where I can draw maximum light for soul survival during the grey Seattle winter. My job is to clear and wash the window and its sill and to declutter under the desk where a monotype print machine and picture frames push against my feet. Bisecting the room, within arm's reach of my chair, are two bookcases of theology, culture, and inspiration.
The "Authenticity" wall to the right will host my art space. The theme is art. I am no longer interested in crafting, so when our boarder moves in December, the "crafty" sewing machine, cardstock, and crafting supplies that survive the cull will move into the next room. In red ink, I have written "Craft" on my map... with a big X through it.
CL has written "Watercolor" and I begin to cry when I see the word, overwhelmed by the longing to paint my heart out in a time when I am smothered by obligations and pieces of chaos. I glance at the two paintings to the left of my writing window, botanicals painted in Cambridge that comfort my harried soul. Maybe I can carve out time to paint again in this coming year. The current anchor on this wall is tattered pieces of calligraphy samples, taped onto a framed poster of Greece left behind by my daughter. I can do better.
"Truth," Sharpee'd on an index card, folds as I press it between the moldings of the two mirrored doors. The open closets show a heap of "obligations" on the left and on the right, "hope" -- canvases, wedding and Christmas gifts, a French easel, and blocking it all, a file of choir music. The long ribbons of taped scores curl in wait in the stocky black box, functional and resented. The theme of this wall is storage, anchored by mirrors.
One last glance at the signs, "Freedom" just above my view. I lift my eyes to the letters promising clarity and relief. Thank you, God, for CL in this season. Bless the work of her hands and mine.
