After 30 years of sharing work space with Ron, our 8 kids, various pets, ever-present laundry, and lists of urgent to-dos, one of the bedrooms has been transformed into an office/studio/work area. I love it, I love it. It is my heaven, my prison, and my freedom. I’m surrounded by photos of half-grown children, posters of art untouchable, and snippets of stuff I’ve produced, which remind me “I will do better next time.”
You hear a song you haven’t thought of since high school, and still you know every word. That’s how visuals are for me. Mr. D’s figure drawing class… the Getty with Ron… Mary’s wedding… the 16 foot dragon… The Torch… galactic poinsettia… Victoria’s cranes… My space – it has known plenty of error and failure, but – is soaked with showers of blessing.
Projects come and go, as do children. I hold each for a few moments, give what I can, send them off. I am thankful (gratitude is productive in itself) for a present retention of past good. When I get old and lose my memory, at least my space will keep me smiling.