Lately my life is a series of projects, shows, productions, presentations, acts of creativity. I take deep pleasure in setting the stage, in carefully crafting each little detail of the physical so the nonphysical can move freely through and out of it.
I get so consumed when I'm in "production mode" that I hardly notice what's happening around me. My focus on what is right in front of me is so intense that I don't see the bigger picture. I buzz around the studio, digging through my stock, spilling everything from its container. It's delightfully chaotic. This is the time and space where I really flow. If I took the time to put everything back in its proper place, I would stop to think, which, in this case, is not good.
It goes in cycles. After each flurry of intense activity and mess-making, I leave the studio. I might tidy up abit, dust and cover the machines, put away some tools, but then I'm outta there. I must take the time to rest and renew, to take a breather. I might take a day away or three, depending on the intensity of the last creative explosion. Then I come back, ready for the next phase: clearing, reorganizing, restructuring. Finding new ways to arrange things, so I can see with different eyes. Freshening up. This is also a profoundly enjoyable phase in the cycle. I open up the curtains around my workspace, wiping away all the dust and fabric fuzz that's accumulated throughout the previous burst. I shed weight, bulk, clutter, internally and externally. I become inspired to set the stage for the next thing.
Every time I clear my space again, I say goodbye to the pieces I''ve completed. Some hang here on the rack, others out in the city and other cities, being seen, being worn. I recall the things I made by looking at the evidence on the rug. Fabric scraps,tangled threads, pins and needles, lids that I've lost and spent obsessive amounts of time trying to find. In the throes of a creative wave, when I'm surrounded by mountains of fabric, unraveled rolls of ribbons and lace, elastic and thread strewn about the tent, I usually glance around and say to myself, "gosh I'm sure running low on straight pins. I'll have to pick some up at the store next time I go." Then, when I get to cleaning up again, I retrieve all my pins and suddenly my stock is plentiful again.
It's during this time that I get to appreciate and reflect on what I've created. What I've accomplished. I recall my moods, joys, and frustrations. What did I learn? What did I do really well? What mistakes did I make? What do I want to carry on with, What can I let go of?
My most constant struggle is the fabric scraps. And the piles are accumulating exponentially!!! I throw it all in plastic bins. "I'll sort through it later" I say. I do re-use a lot of my scraps for the little funky things, accessories and small items and such. But I cant keep up. I continue to buy more tubs and bins and baskets, stuffing them and stacking them on top each other. I even dragged a shopping cart without wheels two blocks back to the studio. Whatever I can find.
Finally I get to feeling like its closing in around me. I fantasize that these piles of colors and textures will suddenly materialize into giant patchwork fabric zombies. They come at me, moaning dreadfully and threatening to engulf me, simply wanting to find their place in the world and be at peace. It is my responsibility to save their souls. When I do sort through it, I'm racked with indecision. What to keep? What to pass on? What if, in six months, I really want to cut a paisley out of this old dress to use for applique, and I spend half an hour digging around looking for it, only to realize that I'm only being haunted by the spirit of fabric past? Aarrgg! I threw it out back in the spring!
I've been thinking all the while that there's gotta be a better way to organize this chaos. I haven't quite figured it out yet. It's my personal equivalent of the quest for the holy grail: The Perfectly Organized Studio. Where all I have to do is enter, sit in the chair, put on the hat, pick up the wand, and the magic starts flowing. I believe it's possible. In the meantime, I'll just continue to be grateful for the way it is now, which is perfect.
Spring Cleaning