We have to clear out that back room he says, it has too much crap in it. I know I say. But what I really want to do, is make that a space where I can write and make art. Okay. He says. Okay? YAY!
The windows face south, southeast on two sides. It is a long narrow space, with a wood stove on one end. I move my desk, craning my neck to look out the window. Carved elephants sit happily on the bookcase that I made in middle school, a few of my favorite books too. I arrange lighting a really good space heater that my friend Michelle’s boyfriend gave me last winter, put pencils in the drawer, dig my palette and sketch pads out of a box, and find my brushes. I step back and look, he comes out, looking good, yeah I say but…. then I turn the desk a quarter turn, and an ahhhh of relief and correct use of the space like fung shui, escapes from me. The birds, chckadees, blue jays, juncos and some other as yet unidentified bird are at the feeder not more than two feet from my face as I draw, and write. I can imagine writing early in the morning, and looking up to see a coyote, a fox or a deer in the tiered back yard. My Buddhas watch peacefully over the garden, and the wind chimes serenade along with the birds. Though it is overcast, I do not need any unnatural light. This is perfect.
This is a really good space, he says with a kiss on my cheek.
I just look at him and grin, real big.
I draw and then paint for the first time in months. And what comes from me, though carrying my distinctive style, is quite different from anything I have ever done before.
I like this.
Does that wood stove work, I ask. It cranks out the heat, it gets to be about 90 degrees out here, he answers.
Three seasons room just added a season, I cannot leave my paints out here, but I can sure as hell paint in the dead of winter.
Does this match a dark, dank, hot lights, cold cement floor, musty, cramped space?