When I was visiting my oldest son he told me that he was addicted to his shop, an addiction I can well understand. Chris has a huge metal workshop building about a hundred steps from his house. This space has several bays where he restores antique cars, readying them for racing or for clients. The rest of it is devoted to his screen business where he makes tee shirts and other clothing designs and signs. There are several computers. There is a large refrigerator for beer and snacks for all the 'posse' who hang out there, a basic restroom out back, and absolutely no place to sit down. There is a huge heavy table, command central, covered with orders from clients, and a big t.v. which is on all the time with no sound. The texture of this place is so amazing it makes my eyes goggle. Walls are covered with tool storage, his old dog has a bed under the screen carousel, various things hang from the high ceiling, every surface vertical and horizontal is covered. It looks so complicated you wonder how anything gets done! Under foot are several baby items, swings, toys.
His kids spend a lot of time 'in the shop'. There is everything dangerous there, dirt, sharp tools, probably toxic fumes, spicy language from the posse, no really safe place to play. But Joe, the almost three-year-old wants to spend every moment there. He feels loved and welcomed by his dad or Mike, the web master and the other Mike who works on the cars. Joe climbs into the cars in process, or he works on art projects at the big table. Sometimes he watches videos on one of the computers, a funny little guy sitting on a high stool with earphones on, absorbed in 'A Bug's Life' or 'Cars'. His sister Caroline is harder at ten months. But she loves being there too. I see her sitting on the big table amongst the invoices, eating french bread and brie cheese, happy to be there in her dad's space.
I could not be happy in that space but I understand the addiction. I have my own room, my studio, and it too, is beginning to have the texture and the quirkiness of the primary owner of it. I need lots of natural light so I have many windows and glass doors, a couple of skylights. After a year of occupancy it is taking on personal identity. The walls are covered with fabric swatches I want to look at. Photographs in progress are lying around. All the tools I need for quilting, painting, and ceramics are insinuating themselves into every cranny. The computer and printer and all the periferals take up one wall. The dog bed is under the large work table.
Right now one could say this place is a mess. In the ceramics room there are fifty little fired clay pieces from kids. I am backing them so the floor is covered with shards of red felt. A quilt in progress covers my work table.
I have pretty much given up any t.v. watching because I want to be here in my studio creating things. I don't spent much time in our house. After breakfast and reading the paper I head down to the studio where many projects beckon. I am totally in love with having this room of my own.
I have always carved out a little bit of space for myself. I have had little nooks for my computer or my sewing machine. I had a corner of the garage for a long time, where I had my potter's wheel and kiln and made pots. But I always had to share these spaces with children and the needs of family. For years I took over the guestroom for my quilting, but then, I always had to clean everything up when people came to visit. My dream was to have a truly dedicated ROOM OF MY OWN!
And now I do. It is heaven. It can be as messy or weird as I want. I can leave things and know they will be there when I return. I love the music I listen to as I work, the vistas from every side, the possibilities of life!
A room of one's own is truly one's identity.
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