Creative space and actually creating
Mar. 4th, 2010 12:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zoetheI am still thrilled to bits with my studio, which I continued to "feather" yesterday, and delighted that I will soon be sewing in there.
But one of the reactions I saw to sharing my pictures was, "I wish I had space for my crafts." It was a vivid reminder that we - all of us, me included - make limitations for ourselves where, really none should exist.
The best example of how such limitations are self-imposed is my buddy Craig. When John and I first lived in Fairbanks, we made friends with a great couple, Robin and Craig. Robin and Craig lived in the a tiny, lopsided cabin. The house consisted of a living room about the size of your average dorm room, one bedroom just large enough for their kingsized bed and a couple dressers, a small kitchen with just enough room for a breakfast table, and a tiny bathroom. The most spacious area was the artic entry, which served as storage for all the stuff they would have kept in a garage if they'd had a garage. Standing flat-footed, I could put both hands on the ceiling, palms flat.
In that tiny space, Craig ran a darkroom. He repaired, tuned, and waxed skis. He practiced his martial arts skills and went from novice to black belt in Tai Kwon Do. He crafted and finished a gorgeous blanket chest. He sewed gear for back country use. Together the two of them butchered a moose, cleaned and processed countless salmon, prepared for extensive trips, and probably some other skills I'm not remembering. Oh, and he played a mean guitar.
All of this in a space not as large as my living room.
Yes, practicing his Tae Kwon Do meant a lot of turning carefully and backing up so as not to kick through the TV. Yes, his craftwork meant that there were weeks on end of stepping over power tools in the middle of the floor. Yes, his darkroom meant lifting the developer out of the tub every day in order to shower (and then returning it to the tub because its alternate resting place was the toilet). Yes, it wasn't unusual to step the wrong way and create a domino fall of skis and poles. None of it fit neatly into the space. But he still did it. He still accomplished amazing and beautiful things, even without a dedicated space.
So don't give up. Don't get discouraged. You can still accomplish your dreams. You may just have to step sideways through a hallway to get there.
But one of the reactions I saw to sharing my pictures was, "I wish I had space for my crafts." It was a vivid reminder that we - all of us, me included - make limitations for ourselves where, really none should exist.
The best example of how such limitations are self-imposed is my buddy Craig. When John and I first lived in Fairbanks, we made friends with a great couple, Robin and Craig. Robin and Craig lived in the a tiny, lopsided cabin. The house consisted of a living room about the size of your average dorm room, one bedroom just large enough for their kingsized bed and a couple dressers, a small kitchen with just enough room for a breakfast table, and a tiny bathroom. The most spacious area was the artic entry, which served as storage for all the stuff they would have kept in a garage if they'd had a garage. Standing flat-footed, I could put both hands on the ceiling, palms flat.
In that tiny space, Craig ran a darkroom. He repaired, tuned, and waxed skis. He practiced his martial arts skills and went from novice to black belt in Tai Kwon Do. He crafted and finished a gorgeous blanket chest. He sewed gear for back country use. Together the two of them butchered a moose, cleaned and processed countless salmon, prepared for extensive trips, and probably some other skills I'm not remembering. Oh, and he played a mean guitar.
All of this in a space not as large as my living room.
Yes, practicing his Tae Kwon Do meant a lot of turning carefully and backing up so as not to kick through the TV. Yes, his craftwork meant that there were weeks on end of stepping over power tools in the middle of the floor. Yes, his darkroom meant lifting the developer out of the tub every day in order to shower (and then returning it to the tub because its alternate resting place was the toilet). Yes, it wasn't unusual to step the wrong way and create a domino fall of skis and poles. None of it fit neatly into the space. But he still did it. He still accomplished amazing and beautiful things, even without a dedicated space.
So don't give up. Don't get discouraged. You can still accomplish your dreams. You may just have to step sideways through a hallway to get there.