For the past year and half, I’ve been searching for a room of my own. I’ve battled insecurity (am I enough of a writer and artist to need one) and laundry lines looking for a place in our home that I could dedicate to creativity. Last week I decided to plant my flag in the attic space we use for a guest room and began culling shelves and tables and recycled doo-dads together to make a workspace.
And now it’s mine.
I am surrounded by paper and pencils, and from my new spot, I can see the weeded part of my garden. I once read a jaded comment by a jaded photobuyer that once you begin taking pictures of flowers, your photography is reaching a dead end (Loving photos of flowers, I had to disagree). I’m not a photobuyer or a photographer, but I can say that when you’re looking at the glowing green through your studio window (yes, I called it a studio), your drawing life gets a huge jump start and so does your blog.
Saturday morning, however, I ran away from home again. I had to. As an exercise in discipline, I set a deadline of this weekend to finish the writing portion of an eBook I’ve been working on. When I woke, I headed up the stairs to the Attic Studio, automatically reaching for my colored pencil case.
I’d seen a bluebird crash-diving Thing1’s bedroom window. Had to draw that. There was that gorgeous garden last night. Had to draw that and write about it. The raspberry bush is consuming my garden arch – ooh, that would make a great doodle.
In my own space, I suddenly faced a dilemma of too many images and ideas, and it was definitely delicious. I just hope it doesn’t go to my thighs.