My roommate Cawby-Ku and I have recently begun rearranging our house. We realized that we were not making art like we had planned and blamed this partly on the fact that all our art-making stuff was in our basement “studio”. It’s easy to ignore things in the basement. So we are going to experiment with a new, hopefully better, use of our space.
Today I moved my bed down into what once was the dining room. And after some clever maneuvering, and with the help of my friend Tobias, I have begun to create a studio space out of the old living room. Essentially I have a mini two-room apartment that is connected to the kitchen. And I still have access to the awesome claw foot tub upstairs. And our new television room is stupidly cute and cozy. Cawby-Ku is keeping her bedroom where it is and will be turning my old room into her studio. Hurrah! She’s close to her artwork and I’m close to mine!
And my aging dogs won’t have to climb the stairs a bazillion times a day. I think it’s going to work out well for all of us. Even the cat seems to be okay, although with him I’m always on the look out for signs of emotional trauma.
So here I am about to begin my first night in my new room. One dog is already asleep on my legs. The other keeps looking at me with confusion in his eyes, because he clearly doesn’t remember anything that’s happened today. And the cat has already succeeded in tearing down the curtains I so carefully push-pinned over the archway between my bedroom and the studio.
The space feels good and I’m hoping that somehow I can absorb some of this good feeling through my pores while I sleep. I feel like I’ve been making some progress towards recognizing my own unique idiosyncrasies and I can’t help but think of this space as both a reward and a catalyst.
I still feel crazy though.
And I can’t quite shake the old feeling that I’m being a bother to some people.
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