. . . the article . . .
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a very uplifting week. It has been typically full of activity and meetings surrounding my family and business obligations like a flutter of butterflies. This bears mentioning, because those “activities and meetings” often feel more like a swarm of bees. (By the way, I looked-it-up, the National Geographic website says a group is called a “flutter.”) Unfortunately, there wasn’t a lot of time to just “be,” but the other time was productive and I feel like I’m in a good place.
When I had some time to just get a few things done “for myself,” they were things such as: dusting and reorganizing my cookbooks; gathering my inventory of silver plate flatware into mixed place settings, to sell at the shop; and, training our newest family member—the Great Pyrenees mixed-breed we adopted from the shelter last week. Now, most of those activities may sound like chores/work to a lot of folks, but for me, it was a pleasure. My indulgence was listening to a book I recently downloaded (and my daughter synced with my whosey-whats-it)—“Water for Elephants.”
This week I hope to accomplish a few more fun chores. I’ve been trying to sew some new aprons for us to wear at the shop. The sewing machine and fabric have been sitting out for entirely too long (my husband hasn’t mentioned it—this is by my own standards!). I had the back room—my “studio” cleaned-up enough to do some actual creating back there, but it quickly filled-up with the accoutrement of summer (coolers, patio cushions and bikes). I was just speaking with Mike Mitchell, an instructor in the Art Department at APSU (and, incidentally, the mastermind of the cool new Austin Peay Steampunk University—like them on Facebook for more info) about our “studio/storage” space. We both have the problem of bringing more and more cool-stuff-in-waiting, aka “supplies,” consequently, running out of room to actually perform the creative acts of transformation. I think this is a common problem with those “extra rooms” we try to claim as our own. The problem is: everyone else in the household has, in effect, claimed it as well. We’ve always used it for storage—what made me think everyone (including myself) would stop using it for storage just because I started calling it “my studio” and not the “back porch?”
(Let me interrupt this regurgitation of my weekly article to illuminate with illustrations . . . this is a publication I now carry at the shop. It is frustrating in its inspiration!)
The need for this workspace, however, has become painfully obvious in the past few weeks. I have nowhere to work on furniture for the shop, to leave projects in-the-works while paint and/or glue dries or to store the myriad of cool-stuff-in-waiting. Sure, there’s that huge building my husband bought for me to play shopkeeper in, but it’s been tight in there, too! (Especially with the Christmas order that was delivered three months too early!)
I’ve lamented about this issue before and, same as before, I hear in my head George Carlin doing his “Stuff” monologue. (If you haven’t seen it lately, it’s worth a viewing on You Tube—just be warned it is Carlin, so there is some language!)
Thanks for your indulgence,