Somedays, rare days, my studio life is like this. I dive into a project and start digging away. The work is hard, but before too long there is a garden, and there are hugs, and all is happy-happy. I love those days; they’re amazing. I seem to have one every few months, and that one day can fuel me for months in the studio just working through the ideas, sketches, and passing stitches. I’ve been known to come out of one of those days with a half-dozen projects underway.
But those days are truly rare; more often than not my studio life is more like this:
My studio life is generally rife with frustration. The enormity of what lies ahead of me, literally and figuratively, overwhelms me. I stare at the project in front of me completely unsure what to do next, or whether this is even the project that should be on the table. I spend entire afternoons wondering just what I should be working on, or whether I should be doing something else altogether. My studio is far too often a metaphysical place. I should be up to my elbows in fabric; instead I am waist-deep in uncertainty.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t make things; heck I am going through a spell of productivity these days that I haven’t seen the likes of in many a year. I look back over the past year and I am astonished by how far I have come. I have moments every day when I just stop and marvel at my luck to be part of this amazing community. Then I wish I had another six hours to actually get some real work done.
But that is the nature of my two studios; it is a rare day when it all comes together, when I get into the flow, and the torrent of creativity comes crashing. Most days I spend my time poking the apple hoping bits of it will end up in my mouth, or at least that I’ll scribble something interesting.
In case you were wondering, that is…
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