Inside, meet outside
Periodically, Spouse and I go through our stuff, looking for things to get rid of. This year, we’ve been digging deeper than usual. Today we unearthed a box that contains 2 sets of sheets we haven’t seen since we left Indiana more than 6 years ago.
Last week, I brought home from our storage unit an old tool box of mine containing all my implements for shaping clay. Unpacked everything today, realizing I probably haven’t used any of them since 2003. There are a lot more than I remembered I had! (In a good way)
I got rid of the plastic tool box, but will be keeping — and using — the tools . . . for something.
Have also been surprised to realize that . . . (with rare exceptions) I don’t buy art anymore.
I don’t think of buying art anymore, and I don’t miss buying it, or owning it.
I still love art. Of course I do — I’m an artist!
But that’s the thing: nowadays, I make art.
All those years I was buying art, I must’ve been doing it because I was blocked, and not creating my own.
Now that I’m creating my own, other people’s art (with rare exceptions) . . . pleases me less than it used to. I want to be surrounded by my own stuff.
Natural artifacts are always welcome in my studio: feathers, seeds, flowers, leaves, rocks, driftwood, etc., but I’m also working at limiting the time they spend with me. After an interval, I return them to natural areas where nonhumans can recycle the biomass. I’m also much more careful about what I pick up these days. I more often just take a photograph, not the thing itself.
~ ~ ~ This is related to that dream I had 2 weeks ago, isn’t it? My creative spaces, inner and outer, are filled with things other people made or designed or prefer to interact with. Not what I prefer.
It’s not just the placement of objects in my studio that creates problems. It’s which objects are in there at all.
Whenever I get to this point, I keep wanting to say, “I need a space planner!” But… I looked into local space planners a few months ago. They’re very interested in selling “organizational systems”, and storage units, and stuff like that. That’s a gravel-level problem, not the boulder I’ve been tiptoeing around.
My whole life is imprinted with other people’s preferences.
I’ve been (made into) a palimpsest.
Saying Fuck right now (like I normally would) is getting really old. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Nor does it help me figure out what to do.
I think I need to get rid of A LOT MORE stuff than I’d been planning to. All the art by other people that doesn’t thrill me when I look at it? Going away. The computer desk filled up with the desktop that I never use anymore, and the boxes from software I bought 10 years ago? Floppy disks? Going away. Anything that isn’t what I want me and my life to be . . . is GOING AWAY, as soon as I can arrange it.