Here I am, cleaning and reorganizing my studio...again. It’s not even time for an open studio. Maybe I’ll have one, now that I’ve done so much cleaning.
In astronomy, the term “event horizon” denotes the region surrounding a black hole where time-space is so bent, even light cannot escape. Anything entering this region disappears forever. Sometimes I feel like this describes my life. If anything comes to my attention, I need to take care of it immediately or I forget it totally. Reminders, Post-It notes, daily planners...nothing works very well for very long. People are often surprised when I follow up on a task with them immediately and think I’m organized. I’m not. I am just extremely aware of my own personal “event horizon”.
I’m also a pack rat and a thrift shop addict, a deadly combination. I’ve happily filled my studio with all sorts of cool things that beg to be made into projects. Old dolls, sea shells, junk pieces of rusted metal, vintage atlases and schoolbooks, Lotto games and puzzles, all clamoring for my (limited) attention. New art materials, unusual office supplies, odd lots of envelopes and colored cardstock that might come in handy someday... More beads than I would ever use in a lifetime, heaped in bowls and antique ash trays and relish dishes on my worktable.
Add to this that the Bad Bunny is back with a vengeance, and CLIMBING. I found out earlier this month Bubble likes to leap from chairs to tabletops, and eats everything she finds there. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. (For those of you who have asked when Bubble will become a hamburger, let me reassure you that we will probably never EAT her, but she WILL have a nice new cage very, very soon....)
I have ideas for a new series of wall hangings, so it’s time to clear surfaces once again. And all these lovely, intriguing THINGS have to make way for the art.
A wonderful side effect is that as each item is uncovered, I discover its pleasures anew. I'm energized with all the ideas and inspiration they carry.
As I finally finish unpacking from that last show and store my booth stuff, I can now see what needs to be done for my next show. I sort and toss, reconfigure storage, organize my signs and frames and papers.
As a treat, I stop and frame a print I've found, one I bought last year from an amazing artist. Molly Mayer carves woodblock prints, very rough and powerful images. She is also a poet and handmade book artist. The finished piece is clean and dramatic, and now hangs in a prominent place in my living room. I find myself yearning to carve and stamp some prints of my own. Maybe, if I accomplish enough by this weekend, that will be my reward.
A miracle! Items that entered my event horizon actually reappear. As I go through piles of paper, I find the notes of people I was supposed to call, tasks I set myself that got set aside. I pick those up as I find them and finish them off.
I guess my point is, this is actually sort of a pleasant process this week. Not my FAVORITE thing to do, but rather fitting work for a cold, rainy, New England spring.
