The studio, sits, and waits. Walls, windows, comfy couch, rocking chair, art supplies, incredible view. Still I am not there. Riding waves of the storm followed by days of dead calm until the skies begin to cloud once more
tea and sleep
I have not slept for more than a few moments at a time, maybe, for two days. The rooms have been either too hot or too cold. It has been too early, or too late, or time has simply not been measured properly. Whatever the reason, my mind will not quiet. When my eyes close, blank, bright visions of stark sharp whiteness. What thoughts will calm me? Think of the cats curled up on soft blankets somewhere. Think of my hands kneading warm bread dough on flour-silk wooden boards. Sunrise over the water. The aroma released when harvesting sun-ripened tomatoes. Think of the studio, what it might look like... to give me a sanctuary to hide in, the planning of something new. Let my mind have that distraction for right now at least.
High windows, low windows, comfortable chairs and wooden tables, shelves of tea alongside art supplies and books.
Shelves of tea. Rows of tea. Tea. A nice cup of tea. A nice cup of tea would be so nice right now. If someone brought me a cup of tea... If someone could just keep bringing me cups of tea until... until... Until I could breathe again. Until I could feel my own bones and flesh and the weight of myself in this chair. Until I could rest again.
Now whenever my eyes close I think of tea. Dream of tea. Tea and sleep.
I have not slept for more than a few moments at a time, maybe, for two days. The rooms have been either too hot or too cold. It has been too early, or too late, or time has simply not been measured properly. Whatever the reason, my mind will not quiet. When my eyes close, blank, bright visions of stark sharp whiteness. What thoughts will calm me? Think of the cats curled up on soft blankets somewhere. Think of my hands kneading warm bread dough on flour-silk wooden boards. Sunrise over the water. The aroma released when harvesting sun-ripened tomatoes. Think of the studio, what it might look like... to give me a sanctuary to hide in, the planning of something new. Let my mind have that distraction for right now at least.
High windows, low windows, comfortable chairs and wooden tables, shelves of tea alongside art supplies and books.
Shelves of tea. Rows of tea. Tea. A nice cup of tea. A nice cup of tea would be so nice right now. If someone brought me a cup of tea... If someone could just keep bringing me cups of tea until... until... Until I could breathe again. Until I could feel my own bones and flesh and the weight of myself in this chair. Until I could rest again.
Now whenever my eyes close I think of tea. Dream of tea. Tea and sleep.
snow
As the source is so far yet unknown, it could be from a dream, a childhood memory, or a vision of something yet to come, but for as long as I can remember, there has been this clear picture in my mind of sitting inside a cozy room somewhere and watching the snow fall... it is a very exact image of a defined location with the snow falling a very particular way. In every house, cottage, camp, cabin, studio ever ventured into, the search for this space, this window, has continued, and it has always eluded me each time. Obviously it has to happen on it's own, not to be contrived, so I would not build it... but now do find myself waiting to see if the scene will indeed occur naturally, somehow, in the studio.
Regardless, I wish it would snow.
tabby
Another thing about changing a shelter from storage to studio is to remember that some visitors may have actually prefered it's prior uses more. My grey tabby cat loves to follow me to what will be the studio and explore the empty space, softly purring in corners and mewing muttered cat comments from time to time.
"Yes," I tell him "sunshine should stream across the floor from a window here" I point out, "where you can spend hours asleep, or over there can be a cozy chair with those warm cotton quilts from the bedroom that need patching. This is where we will put the cabinet to store art supplies, including the wool roving that you won't be able to get into then, so no longer will I scold you about that. The long work table will go here, and underneath the braided carpet you've already pulled rag bits into tufts on. We will have window boxes with herbs and flowers, and I promise to dedicate a large one just to catnip and wheatgrasses for you. There will always be tea for me, and fresh water for you. Don't you just love it?"
And he looks at me, and cat grumbles something that I am lead to believe translated to "But where are the mice that I used to hunt here?"
insulation
Though I dreamt of a little log or stone - how great would stone be?! - cabin in the woods for my studio, it seemed more prudent to repurpose a space already available to me and not spread my footprint any further than needed. One of the tasks in changing a barn or shed from storage to livable space is to consider how one will be kept warm, or otherwise in comfort protected from the elements. The search for eco-friendly insulation began. And I have been pondering this thought: if one was to use recycled newspaper shreds, would those stories, of fortunate events, sad happenings, shelter animals in need of caring homes, grandparents peacefully passing away, a sale on horse feed and end of season clearances on electric cars... lining your roof and walls and beneath the floorboards... could or would those fragments of stories shape your daily life unknowingly?
Though I dreamt of a little log or stone - how great would stone be?! - cabin in the woods for my studio, it seemed more prudent to repurpose a space already available to me and not spread my footprint any further than needed. One of the tasks in changing a barn or shed from storage to livable space is to consider how one will be kept warm, or otherwise in comfort protected from the elements. The search for eco-friendly insulation began. And I have been pondering this thought: if one was to use recycled newspaper shreds, would those stories, of fortunate events, sad happenings, shelter animals in need of caring homes, grandparents peacefully passing away, a sale on horse feed and end of season clearances on electric cars... lining your roof and walls and beneath the floorboards... could or would those fragments of stories shape your daily life unknowingly?
A desire ever since moving to the Freedom Maine land, 1996, now the plans for a private studio are moving from thought into action. Yes, a personal space of my own simply for creating and resting and sipping tea that is away from the business of, well... doing business. Indeed it is possible that the future might also include the occasional open house invites, where my latest carved wooden spoons, kiln fired bowls, or new tea blends will be only subtly displayed... but after sharing spiced hummus and garden veggies, a little bit of time together talking about the weather growing colder or warmer, days shorter or longer, and watching the sunset, it will be a gentle nudge, pleasant farewells to folks, a tranquil sigh perhaps, and then to embrace solitude again.
The art and tea, and self, will be found for sale elsewhere*, with labels and tags and hype not so welcomed in the studio, in the hope that within it's walls it may remain a more peaceful place.
Oh yes, I am looking forward to this.
*admittedly, the "elsewhere" will indeed include right here, online, as seen in the sidebar along with other needful things.
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