I love to look at the amazing artist’s spaces now being
published on the shiny pages of magazines.
I also have to laugh. I have
never known an artist whose work space was picture worthy. Perhaps a fire marshal’s concern but not a
show place.
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| My studio |
I spent a lot of time worry about the constant chaos I seem
to naturally create without even being aware it is happening. As soon as I think about someone walking
through the door, I see it all with a different light. My piles of books, fabric, threat, paper,
beads, rusty things, paint and supplies cover every surface. Partially completed projects are stack on the
top of most piles. Little pieces of
drying detail bits are poking out of everything else like hidden jewels. The floor is like a crunchy collage of little
scraps of paper, beads and other interesting things.
The thought of someone seeing my “mess” used to tie my
stomach in knots. Guilt, shame, and embarrassment would kick into overdrive. All the voices of judgment from my childhood
sound off like a chorus of cheerleading chants.
Obviously I was not who I should be!
Something has happened in the last few years. I have a different understanding of
myself. A diagnosis of ADD explained my
constant struggle with organization. It
is not an excuse. It is a realization
that my mind works differently than many.
It is part of who I am. With the
ADD also comes an imagination and creativity that is in constant motion, the
inclination to take risks, and the ability to get a lot done.
The mess of my studio is really a reflection of my
mind. Before you cover your mouth with
an “OMG!”-- wait. My mind is busy and
clutter with a multitude of ideas, memories, dreams, curiosity, awe, and a
jumble of other things. I have interests
that span a large spectrum, not far enough to include football or country music,
but big enough for me to teach college level logic or figure out how to make it
possible for the most severely physically impaired child to paint. I rarely get bored and I can carry on a
conversation with almost anyone.
It no longer bothers me to bring visitors into my studio
spaces. Did you catch that? I have multiple spaces. I have an outside area, a place to do messy
tools work (saws, sanders, drill press, etc), a small room for glass, and my
main workspace that doubles as my bedroom.
I never fail to be inspired to create something when I am in my
different spaces.
As I have been more willing to bring people into my space
and my creating, I have found myself embracing my crazy messiness. People are drawn to different things. They ask questions. I explain techniques, help problem solve, and
receive ideas and suggestions about different projects. I am part artist, part tour guide and part
teacher.
There are far more people who seem relieved by my mess and
hear more confessions about other people’s messes than I ever hear people
trying to fix my issues. Most important
to me, I discovered as people come into my workspace, they find motivation and
inspiration. Nothing makes me happier
than that.
In my mind I carry two images of childhood. One is the neatly planted wheat fields which
would emerge from the piles of snow each spring. The other image is of an overgrown yard of an
abandon house. Some times in the height of
summer, the house was barely visible. Various
plants, flowers and weeds fought the way through an old wire fence. Inside plants competing for ground, water,
and sunlight covered the ground hiding whatever else was there. The image of the field was and is a sign of
hope of the coming spring and summer.
But the lot of the abandon house called to my soul. I wanted to explore. I wanted to discover what treasures were
hidden there. I wanted to know about
whose house it used to be. It was a
magical place in my imagination.
The universe itself is like the lot of the abandon house and
my studio. It is cluttered with
birthing, living, and dying things. It
has its own beauty and mystery. It has
its own music. It calls me to discover
new places inside myself and beyond.
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