For the last nearly nine years of running SunnyRising I ruled my space with a statement that has turned out to be wildly untrue:
"If the outside is messy, the inside is messy, too"
If the space is a mess, so is the brain of the maker.
Here I am, knee deep in what appears to be clutter and chaos and I am thriving.
The total tidiness myth was a prison.
Though clean single-purpose surfaces are something I don't feel like I can ever give up (hygienic packaging table, frequently swept floors)
I have let everything else be what it is right now.
Metal forms abound.
Cabbed rocks spill out of drawers.
Abundance is alive.
If it eventually smothers something important
then there'll be time to
make it better.
I don't put everything away when I'm done using it.
This means I don't have to get it out again when I use it tomorrow.
For almost nine years
I have thought an artist needed a beautiful space
to make beautiful things.
In order to appeal to that part of myself that still believes, I have built a spaceship (thanks, Robin)
of beauty and relative order
and from the cockpit I can look upon the vastness of the shop
and feel both the safety of my vessel and the spaciousness of
I am learning that it doesn't have to be precious.
I am getting the hang of letting things hang.
I am blowing raspberries at my Perfectionist and hoping
that she'll see the humor in my heart
and the lightness in my step
That everything is saying, "Come along!"
with a sweep of the arm
and a dirt-smudged cheek.