I moved my studio around this Summer, which was a little project that siezed me one day out of the blue. My work room is quite small, no more than a walk-in closet. And it's important for that tiny space to be cozy, not oppressive (otherwise, if this hadn't worked out, I probably would've needed to look for studio spaces in the outside world.)
The move-around turned out exactly the way I'd envisioned it, even though it was all rather harem scarem and done on a whim. We moved the heavy-duty printing equipment into a formerly useless nook in another part of the house, so my pint-sized studio wasn't consumed with electronic things. Now I have only a slim little computer, and the rest is full of my old toys, books, paints, fabric.
Nice things. Things I'm happy to have surrounding me.
I also got a very small loveseat we stuffed through the door somehow. Miette has taken up residence on it, and does his best bossing and dictation from upon a ratty old quilt my friend donated to our beloved ratty quilt collection.
My favorite 7-year old came over for a bit a week or so ago. We spent the afternoon at the antique mall, and then came back here for tea. Inevitably, we ended up in my studio, where curiosities on crowded shelves had drawn her like a moth. She peered into old paintboxes still full of crumbling cakes of watercolor and admired my strange monkey lamp (a longtime favorite of hers.) I think she might try to pocket it if it weren't so unwieldy.
It was the nicest way to spend an hour, and I was happier than ever that we fixed it up so that room is stuffed with only nice things, and not big hulking things riddled with power strips and cords.
We read Little Fur Family aloud and wound the silver keys on my wind-up toys until her mama called.
