My Haven

This is my workspace.  My studio.  My haven.  Mine, mine, all MINE.  I love this spot.  I set it up by our front window due to the great lighting that floods thru it all day.  I can watch for customers, my kids at play, or just the general goings on of the cul-da-sac.  My  kids know not to mess with 'Mommy's stuff' for fear of inviting the mean Mommy voice to fill their ears.  But occasionally my youngest will cross it's threshold with his sticky three-year-old fingers.  But let's be honest, he's too darn cute to get upset with so I usually let it slide as I gently shuffle him o-u-t.

I also love this spot because of everything that surrounds it.  Almost everything has a special story.

My main work desk is the library desk of my grandparents.  I've been told that it's a antique, over a hundred years old.  All I know is it is filled with memories of my grandparents who encouraged me more than anyone to continue with my talents for the arts.  Their spirit is soak into the wood, in the drawers, and on it's shelves.  It may wobble and creak as I stamp, but it holds strong.  Every time I sit at it I am wrapped in it's warmth of their memory and love.

The organizer that keeps me sane belonged to my father.  It held his nails, screws, and bolts.  He was an organizing king.  (He use to roll each pair of socks and keep them lined in his dresser. Seriously. Lined up across the drawer. In a row.)  He was an artist as well.  A woodworker.  And a welder.  The smell of freshly cut wood still brings me to a halt for a moment to take it in.  His garage was so organized that even if you used a tool and put it back in it's place, he'd know it had left it spot for a period of time.  It's like he could smell the shift of movement that had taken place. 

I have saved every 'thank you' card I've received and have them each on display to remind me that there is in fact someone on the other end of my work.  So often I finish a product, wrap it up, hand it off to my mailman and wonder where it ended up.  Like a letter sent out to sea.  Did it fit?  Is it worn everyday or just for special occasions?  Will I see it again adorning the neck of an anonymous shopper in the grocery? Do they love it as much as I did?  Yeah, I didn't actually give birth to it but sometimes it feels similar.  Just minus the pain.

 

I love this space so much that I often will NOT sit down in it if I know that Mommy duty will be calling shortly.  I don't like to tease my creativity like that.  It's my sacred place.  My art cave.   MINE.