Yesterday I started cleaning and rearranging my studio space. I finally worked up enough nerve to ask my studio-mate of 2 1/2 years to move out. It was nothing personal--just that she has not paid in almost a year and a half and hasn't even stepped foot in there to do artwork in more than a year. Needless to say, I'm glad she was cool about my request. And now--now I have SPACE! It is downright lovely.
Even though I should have been preparing for a presentation, I couldn't help but dig in right away. The place needed some love.
I swept, I dusted, I rearranged. I stacked canvases and books and stretcher bars. I drank coffee. I moved stuff. Then I moved it again. I listened to really good Middle Eastern music. I ate a little bar of chocolate and painted the frame of a large corkboard orange. I turned the drafting table into a desk and put the corkboard behind it (where it awaits inspiring images of India and beyond) . And, after all of this, I still have an empty corner for a chair when I just want to read or think. Oh, sweet SPACE!
There's still a few finishing touches that need my attention--like the clutter and dust under my workbench and the search of some really cool fabric for curtains. But I'll have to save that for the weekend. Details, schmeetails... What matters is that now-- now I have a writing space--my very own, private space to think and create and let words find their way to paper--without interruption.
Yesterday I stood there in the middle of my mess and realized that, for the first time, art and writing are receiving equal amounts of attention in my life. I took another sip of coffee and reveled in the feeling of this new-found balance. I've waited a long time.