Showing up every week has proven harder than I initially imagined, but I am still grateful to sit down here when I can. Last week I even started writing early — the day after I last hit “publish” — in an attempt to '“get ahead” of it in some way. But life remains hectic and full, and in these past two weeks seemingly fuller and not without some health bumps, as I imagine the changing weather foists on everyone. Spring has me feeling motivated: I have been mending holes, approaching the finishing touches on a sweater I started knitting for Kai nearly 2 years ago, and putting quilting stitches in a baby quilt begun when my friend got pregnant but whose daughter is now likely nearly two (older?). I even deep cleaned our kitchen pantry — though this was spurred on by a fear of a moth infestation — and let me tell you, if you haven’t done that in a bit (or ever) — you should do it. It’s a glorious feeling, a clean kitchen pantry, and it has inspired much satisfying cooking.
But in truth outside of these attempts at loose-end-tying I can hardly remember the last two weeks. On March 18th I spent a full 10 hours in the studio; I hadn’t had the little ritual I call “7am Studio Saturday” in a few weeks, and it felt good to be there. But it was also hard — the pieces I’m working on now are very personal. I’m grateful to be making them, and still, they are hard. I had set an intention to at least touch on the ghost piece that weekend; to cut some fabric, sew a few pieces together, and test my idea of how I think that work wants to be. I also told myself, “Acid Vat is available to me today!” and that I would pivot from the hard work of these heavy pieces to play with neon yellow as often and for as long as I wanted.
In the end I did neither of those things. I distracted myself on my phone periodically, I sat and let tears come a few times, and I walked my dog in the sunshine for about 30 minutes. But the overwhelming majority of those ten hours, I put my head down and I made a large group of blocks for that big blue piece that I shared photos of in the last post. I did not experiment with the ghost piece. But I know that time is coming.
Since then, unfortunately, I’ve had very little opportunity to be in the studio at all. And a few days later I took on another commission — one I am excited about, and also intimidated by the timeline of — and so after that 10 hour Saturday, the personal projects are officially backburnered for the foreseeable future. It will be very interesting to see how this new assignment plays out; I’m determined to work within a certain set of parameters for myself but also determined not to decide on the outcome from the onset. I’ve started by making some sawtooth stars, a block I’ve had a hankering to return to for the last year or so. Whether this remains the course, or I veer off, time will tell.
In the interim since I wrote last I’ve also started the process of looking for a new studio space; I’m on the waitlist for some studio buildings and also in a slow email correspondence with (surprise) a local church. I’m actually most interested in the church option, though it seems the least likely to pan out. While I’ve been deeply grateful — for a long and myriad list of reasons — to have my current space, it leaves a lot to be desired, including natural light, cleanliness, and dependable wifi. And with the rent raised on March 1st to a staggering $600/month, I just can’t justify that financial bleed anymore.
I’m also trying to revive the small crit group that Brittany Wilder started in the studio space we shared pre-pandemic, in the former YU. Five of us are scheduled to meet again in 2 weeks, for the first time in over three years. (Our group was just getting off the ground in February of 2020.) We want to come back together to talk to each other about our work. It feels like a deeply meaningful re-beginning.
Here’s hoping that all this energy stays. Here’s hoping everyone else is feeling it, too.