This is the non-glamorous side of my art studio. My son and I taped off a 10′ square on the driveway, set up five pieces of display furniture, and moved them around. We tossed questions between us.
What are you putting on this? Do you want this painted? Can you get behind this? Will people be able to touch it? How far can this be seen? How high can we put this? Will this fit in the car?
Fibergig, the business portion of my studio, is preparing to be a vendor at this year’s national gathering of Women of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. This is a bold move for me; I seek help from reliable sources. My son Joe is a superb logistician and a strong man. We answered all the questions we could through our spatial encounter.
Will this work? We think it will. How do you plan space?
This is the beginning of the 8th week of my full-time pursuit of studio work. I had envisioned merrily using the summer to produce so many of the things that my heart and hands had longed to make. What I have encountered is the need to edit. Already. The need feels premature and a bit unwelcome. But it is not to be denied.
I could be rejoicing over this. Abundance is one of the three foundations of my studio work. I have stuff. I have work. I have commitments. I have 800 square feet in which to work and live. I have 24 hours in a day. But now I know that I need more surface space, effectual storage, a faster pace, a bit of emptiness for contemplation. I know this means changing the balance of stored fabric to production area. I know this means more intense focus and better rest. I will achieve this through editing the abundance.
But at the very same time, I will be creating what my heart and hands desire. Without that, there would not be enough joy.