The process of finding a room is both more interesting and more tedious than expected. I had cleared under my writing desk but everything was in the middle of the room with nowhere to go.
Clearing is a good job when waking at 4am. No one makes demands and the courtyard fountain outside the open office window gurgles a soothing accompaniment (who needs a desk fountain!).
After I emptied the library card file and ten crafting drawers, W carried out two boxes and a large portfolio crammed with stamps, papers, inks, stamp pads, and other paraphernalia associated with paper crafts. I assembled a bag of stamping supplies for Colleen, to say thank you for working the NU booth on the weekend. Today the Texan card-maker comes to my workplace for the stamp gear. There are no stamps left in my home office. I don't really like the name office. Am thinking of calling it my studio. A place to write and create.
I moved a rolling file case from under the art desk to under the writing desk, a feat only possible in imagination last week. A pathway opened between desks to roll the files into place. The box with the monoprinter went under the art desk, but I'm working on how to get the huge mangle to the art side of the room as well. I pull out the toolbox, tape measure, and get dimensions of the mangle and the art space.
This sorting process takes a long time. My writing desk is heaped with a file box, two birch shadow-box frames, and the last of the boys' childhood clothing. One tiny shoe which I promised myself not to copper-plate, the favorite sweater for a five-year-old, and a two-piece shorts and jacket suit to fit a three-year-old. Tiny blue suspenders are still clipped to the shorts - the boys were so skinny their pants always fell down. Strangely, the hood for a wool winter coat is also in the pile. If I knew I had the coat, I'd put them together and give them away (probably it's in a box in the basement.) I'm loathe to toss it before I know. Some pastors' wives had this conversation Saturday about loading our daughters-in-law with stuff from their husband's early years - and we said we shouldn't do it. But I can't let go yet because the clothes are sentiment and dreams for the boys, and all kinds of emotion wrapped in fabric. I understand that it's going away, but letting the process take its time helps me release it without regrets.
I have three sewing projects on the art desk. 1) finish the Christmas travel pillows. The sewing machine needles keep breaking with the down pushing on the presser foot, so it is a long, frustrating process. I've broken 10 needles already. 2) Seam a duvet cover that has come apart. It's sat in the corner for about a year because it kept getting lost in the clutter. It needs one simple line of sewing, but the pillows #1 are now caught with a broken needle. As soon as I change needles, I'll zip through this and toss it in the washing machine... and restore it to service. I've missed its use. 3) Resew seams on the quilt I made for Timo (1988?) and give it to him. I need to send the two handmade quilts to the married boys. If their wives don't want them, they can give them back - I've hung on, knowing the gals will likely toss them in the washing machine (which shreds the seams between the pieces) and maybe - probably - not like them. I put a lot of work in while the kids were growing, and I remember how little I valued things my mother-in-law had made. Ok - I shall ask the gals before I give it to them, and let them refuse. I have used the blankets in duvet covers over the years, and wouldn't mind taking them to MT for the cabin anyhow. Kirsten's is in the basement, too. I'll offer it to her at Christmas. Take it or leave it.
There is a box of American Girls dolls in my art closet. I brought it up from the basement when K was home for surgery, and she didn't want to take it with her. When we have grandkids, someone will enjoy them. I have the tendency to toss things just before they are needed - the camel hair wrap-coat Mom made perfectly... given away the season before they reappeared in Vogue, for instance. I kicked myself on that one. But I don't miss or remember a hundred or thousand other things I gave away. The kids will eventually start their families, so I will put the box back in the basement and have more room for canvases and paper.
This morning I was struck by how many cases for brushes and traveling art supplies are in my studio. The longing to paint may be a fantasy I'm nurturing. I have the supplies! Do I have the stamina and willingness to practice and fail as many times as it will take to produce something worthwhile? How many ten-thousand times have I played small, badly done songs while acquiring the skill to improvise on piano? I found a music book in the office, and am getting it out of here. I've found compositions that I'll pop into a file for perhaps being played 'sometime,' but they have no place in my current life. I temporarily hung the willows woven in Cambridge class under the painting of K's shoe. I love the texture and colors, red, brown, green, purple, blue - who knew willow came in so many colors? The wall sign below the willow and above the large canvases proclaims "Openness."
My eyes run over the two botanicals by the desk. I love those paintings. Even while I wonder if anything I produce will be any good. One painting of quince and a cherry stem was done over two full days of concentration at the Cambridge Botanic Gardens - and it's better than the other, painted with distractions and interruptions at home. The precision of plants on paper pleases me. I shudder to think of another mountain / river landscape badly done. Not from here, please.
For months, I've been mulling possibilities for abstract shapes on the three large (3'X3') canvases. If they're interesting, they'll hang in the LR. Anticipation.
How many things I've done. Constant and habitual: creating, exploring, trying new things. Another change to a new boss (back to the old one who is good, as my recent one moves to his passion - music), and I wonder how I can survive work. Not having a day off a week is killing me.
I MUST start writing - a grant application is due in two weeks, a paper for a journal review due in four, and not a finished product in sight. I'm overdue on three papers for classes.
Sorting the studio leaves my mind free to sort my priorities and clears my mind as well. My college workplace is ruthlessly decluttered at the end of every day. Doing that here may help each morning be a fresh start.
Clearing is a good job when waking at 4am. No one makes demands and the courtyard fountain outside the open office window gurgles a soothing accompaniment (who needs a desk fountain!).
After I emptied the library card file and ten crafting drawers, W carried out two boxes and a large portfolio crammed with stamps, papers, inks, stamp pads, and other paraphernalia associated with paper crafts. I assembled a bag of stamping supplies for Colleen, to say thank you for working the NU booth on the weekend. Today the Texan card-maker comes to my workplace for the stamp gear. There are no stamps left in my home office. I don't really like the name office. Am thinking of calling it my studio. A place to write and create.
I moved a rolling file case from under the art desk to under the writing desk, a feat only possible in imagination last week. A pathway opened between desks to roll the files into place. The box with the monoprinter went under the art desk, but I'm working on how to get the huge mangle to the art side of the room as well. I pull out the toolbox, tape measure, and get dimensions of the mangle and the art space.
This sorting process takes a long time. My writing desk is heaped with a file box, two birch shadow-box frames, and the last of the boys' childhood clothing. One tiny shoe which I promised myself not to copper-plate, the favorite sweater for a five-year-old, and a two-piece shorts and jacket suit to fit a three-year-old. Tiny blue suspenders are still clipped to the shorts - the boys were so skinny their pants always fell down. Strangely, the hood for a wool winter coat is also in the pile. If I knew I had the coat, I'd put them together and give them away (probably it's in a box in the basement.) I'm loathe to toss it before I know. Some pastors' wives had this conversation Saturday about loading our daughters-in-law with stuff from their husband's early years - and we said we shouldn't do it. But I can't let go yet because the clothes are sentiment and dreams for the boys, and all kinds of emotion wrapped in fabric. I understand that it's going away, but letting the process take its time helps me release it without regrets.
I have three sewing projects on the art desk. 1) finish the Christmas travel pillows. The sewing machine needles keep breaking with the down pushing on the presser foot, so it is a long, frustrating process. I've broken 10 needles already. 2) Seam a duvet cover that has come apart. It's sat in the corner for about a year because it kept getting lost in the clutter. It needs one simple line of sewing, but the pillows #1 are now caught with a broken needle. As soon as I change needles, I'll zip through this and toss it in the washing machine... and restore it to service. I've missed its use. 3) Resew seams on the quilt I made for Timo (1988?) and give it to him. I need to send the two handmade quilts to the married boys. If their wives don't want them, they can give them back - I've hung on, knowing the gals will likely toss them in the washing machine (which shreds the seams between the pieces) and maybe - probably - not like them. I put a lot of work in while the kids were growing, and I remember how little I valued things my mother-in-law had made. Ok - I shall ask the gals before I give it to them, and let them refuse. I have used the blankets in duvet covers over the years, and wouldn't mind taking them to MT for the cabin anyhow. Kirsten's is in the basement, too. I'll offer it to her at Christmas. Take it or leave it.
There is a box of American Girls dolls in my art closet. I brought it up from the basement when K was home for surgery, and she didn't want to take it with her. When we have grandkids, someone will enjoy them. I have the tendency to toss things just before they are needed - the camel hair wrap-coat Mom made perfectly... given away the season before they reappeared in Vogue, for instance. I kicked myself on that one. But I don't miss or remember a hundred or thousand other things I gave away. The kids will eventually start their families, so I will put the box back in the basement and have more room for canvases and paper.
This morning I was struck by how many cases for brushes and traveling art supplies are in my studio. The longing to paint may be a fantasy I'm nurturing. I have the supplies! Do I have the stamina and willingness to practice and fail as many times as it will take to produce something worthwhile? How many ten-thousand times have I played small, badly done songs while acquiring the skill to improvise on piano? I found a music book in the office, and am getting it out of here. I've found compositions that I'll pop into a file for perhaps being played 'sometime,' but they have no place in my current life. I temporarily hung the willows woven in Cambridge class under the painting of K's shoe. I love the texture and colors, red, brown, green, purple, blue - who knew willow came in so many colors? The wall sign below the willow and above the large canvases proclaims "Openness."
My eyes run over the two botanicals by the desk. I love those paintings. Even while I wonder if anything I produce will be any good. One painting of quince and a cherry stem was done over two full days of concentration at the Cambridge Botanic Gardens - and it's better than the other, painted with distractions and interruptions at home. The precision of plants on paper pleases me. I shudder to think of another mountain / river landscape badly done. Not from here, please.
For months, I've been mulling possibilities for abstract shapes on the three large (3'X3') canvases. If they're interesting, they'll hang in the LR. Anticipation.
How many things I've done. Constant and habitual: creating, exploring, trying new things. Another change to a new boss (back to the old one who is good, as my recent one moves to his passion - music), and I wonder how I can survive work. Not having a day off a week is killing me.
I MUST start writing - a grant application is due in two weeks, a paper for a journal review due in four, and not a finished product in sight. I'm overdue on three papers for classes.
Sorting the studio leaves my mind free to sort my priorities and clears my mind as well. My college workplace is ruthlessly decluttered at the end of every day. Doing that here may help each morning be a fresh start.
