My New Studio, Part 1: Sometimes transitions to good things are still tricky transitions.
Monday, 14 February, 2011 at 4:37 PM 
There's a little studio in Greensboro with my name on it.** Soon, I will be creating magnificent things there - words, images, websites, collages, visual journals - who knows what all, really? But today I was surprised and alarmed to discover that I'm in a wonky, not-altogether-welcome space of un-centered personal transition. Always the transitions that get me.
I've been holding out on you. I got a studio. And I've been working to get it set up so I can do magnificent work there, when I feel the need to work outside my home.
For the amount of space it is - an itty-bitty room, some might even call it - I've bought and applied (with the help of some kind and generous friends, oh how I thank them,) a small fortune in paint. And then I moved some furniture in, also not without the help of others. In the room now resides:
- A comfy, cozy, possibly-too-big-for-the-space-but-did-I-mention-how-comfy-it-is? chair.
- A drop-leaf table for a desk and general workspace. (This style of table is great for accommodating a variety of spacial needs.)
- Some new (and soon to be stained,) wooden, stackable crates that will make committing to a single shelving configuration unnecessary.
- A comfy, leather desk chair.
- Another little wooden chair.
- Some fabric that will one day be made into a pair of drapes.
- A floor lamp.
- A remnant of unused carpet.
- I'm hoping, too, that there will be room for my ficus tree. Which I had left in yet another friend's care for far too long and which is lush and wonderful and awfully big for a tiny studio. But maybe... Because growing things are very good to have around.
This morning I stopped by my storage unit to grab some tools on my way there. Only to find I'd left that set of keys in the jacket pocket I wore there yesterday. So there would be no straight edged razor for scraping the bits of excess paint and tape from the windows. (Have I mentioned I'm a messy painter?) Soon enough...
Back behind the steering wheel, I left there and drove on, confident that still I would make this place my own, today.
Everything lugged inside, freshly-brewed cup of coffee at my side, mounds of work awaiting me, I sat and worked. And faltered. And worked. Something wasn't right. I got sad. The gorgeous light streaming through the still-uncurtained window made it too bright to work at my laptop, and way too hot. So I moved from the table to the comfy chair, thrilled to discover the long-forgotten reality that my comfy chair is quite firm and supportive for long stretches of work.
Still, the space was annoying. I felt claustrophobic. And lonely. (Which was a bizarre discovery to make, for one who works quite happily from home many days every week.) My boots made me feel I was suffocating. Working from home for years on end will spoil a pair of feet. Although nobody said I have to wear any footwear at all in my studio. It's mine, after all...
The whole business really freaked me out and eventually I realized I would have to try again another day. I had to come home and continue my work where I started my day. In a space that's very, very comfy.
I've always imagined having a studio for creating wonderful things. All my own - away from home, still not in an officey-office space. The studio of my fantasies would be a cozy space with endless creative inspiration, surrounded by like-minded, equally-creative people. And this is what I have now!!! So why couldn't I work there? Why am I terrified that now that I have the space I've always dreamed of, it's not going to be what it's cracked up to be? Is there something wrong with me?
Back home, this is what I tell myself, using my calmest, most gentle, nurturing inner voice:
- It's okay to slow down. Take my time. Get used to it slowly.
- Of course I couldn't work there; it's not finished! Who can work in chaos? Even if the chaos is a bit more creative than some chaos, and completely of your own making...
- Breathe.
- Just because I couldn't work there today doesn't mean it won't eventually become the glorious culmination of all my artistic fantasies... one day!
- Sometimes you're just having a bad day. It's not the little studio's fault. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to work anywhere this morning! It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
- Breathe some more.
- I'm very, very lucky to have this space.
- Which I love.
- Are you breathing, woman?
- I will settle into this studio in my own sweet time. There is no hurry.
- Again. Breathe.
Meanwhile, if anybody wants to come help me make curtains, or stain crates, or keep me company while I make curtains or stain crates, I would probably not turn down the offer of your company.
Shoes are optional.
**I'll tell you more about where this studio is, soon enough. For now, just know it's in Greensboro. Where I live. Most of the time.
Reader Comments (5)
Melody,
This post reminds me when I went on my WildAcres Retreat. I was ALL SET to do some SERIOUS writing when I got there and was dismayed--and panicked--to find I couldn't do anything. I rebelled against every minute of it. I found out later from other writers who had won the retreat that they all felt this way. Everyone recommended easing into the process and not expecting great things the first couple of days. It's more of a getting acquainted period. So I think your advice to yourself to slow down is dead on. The space will be marvelous in time. Right now, you're learning the vibe of the place. Ease into it. Go there for an hour or so of work and then slip out. Good luck!!
Well, it (your studio) not right yet. I remember when I moved into my studio. One week the easel & table was one way, the next week another way & the next yet another way.....I moved around, I took things out, I put things in, I bought this & that. And moved things yet again. After some 6 to 9 months I finallly....finally found what worked for me. Today it's perfect.
I love this story. Is that terrible to say? I'm really excited for you and more than a little jealous. Of course it will become the glorious culmination! You're in the neutral zone and you have to hang out there for a while. Give a proper goodbye to your old way of working and take some time to get ready for the new way. I think fixing up the space, while breathing, is a great way. Can't wait to read more.
Dena, that's really encouraging since your retreat was already a fully-established, functioning place meant to inspire good writing. Which suggests I shouldn't be completely surprised (or nervous) if, even once I have curtains and lamp shade and throw pillow in my chair, it still feels wrong?
Phyllis, thank you! I never knew that. That long??? I'm so impatient, and the idea of it taking that long kinda' gives me the willies. Still, your story, too, helps me to know I'm not alone.
Gretchen, it's not terrible to say. It's very welcome and affirming, in fact. I've been writing more lately (off the blog) and contemplating the writing, here, too, and what I like and don't like. People's stories are always more interesting to me when they're more revealing and complex and maybe even when they sometimes own up to the vulnerabilities they try to keep to themselves, or among a small group. That means me too, I guess...
Also, thanks to the friends who commented on Facebook AND those who called. (I have a lot of non-commenting-types in my world, and appreciate feedback no matter whether it's public or not!) Got permission to post Karen's FB comment here, 'cause it cracked me up:
"YAY you!! I think you should decorate it and then spend some time with it. Get to know it. Buy it a coffee. Just sit with it. Date it. Don't try to work in it yet. Take that "perfect" pressure off for now. Then, maybe on the 3rd date, take your laptop and do some little something - Scrabble, perhaps. Then, by the 5th or 6th date, you'll be in serious like with each other and it'll feel more natural to do a little work with it. Or not. :) I'm just thinking you might have put pressure on yourself about it."