A Room of Her Own...

I have an art studio again. If I ever did before.... I had borrowed places before, or used places with stipulations too high or too much baggage or bad mojo, or the shared space of college studios and cubbies years and years ago. This, though, is a little room in a small building off of our rental house. Lots of spiders. Flourescent lights (I'll be supplementing with warmer varieties soon). But there's a door. And AC for hot days. And nothing in the room that I haven't brought in for My Studio.

There's a pink chair (with a sweet Bluejay warming it now).

A table, easel, wall, shelf and lots and lots of colors waiting to escape their bottles and wooded casings for the Joy of a place to Shine and Share their brilliant essence.
As I brought them out over the last few weeks, I began to realize I was somehow a lot like all of my art supplies, stuffed away in storage and boxes, dusty, feeling dried up, unused, unfulfilled, and bound to the neglect of a person just going through the motions of the crazy messed up world around her - lost and dull and feeling rather bland. And i've been wondering, how did this happen? Life happened, I guess - with all its distracting road signs and neon lights and blaring radios and TVs and the very momentum of status quo and getting by. And let's not forget the beautiful distractions - the part of me that can be so easily infatuated with new and interesting experiences and topics, and the tendency to hoard information because it's so amazing to learn.  But distractions, nonetheless - because they don't feed the need of my soul, the hunger that calls. And, as often happens, the distractions became ordinary routine somehow... and i just simply forgot about creating art. for awhile.
once upon a time, i wrote a little artist statement to get my BFA that had something to do with the conviction of being an Artist as a Way of Life, not a career path. i knew then that it meant Creating a Life, not just stuff, in a creative, self-true expressive way, out of this box of our culture and its influence. but i got that silly degree and then faced the big bad real world and became overwhelmed and fearful and doubtful... which caused me to listen more to the distractions around me, and i began to believe that being an artist was great while i was young and free-spirited, but not very practical for an adult trying to survive and be prepared in life - successful, mature, together. (prepared for what?!)  and here i am... 10 years later... many paths have led me away from the fulfillment of the creative ache inside of my self; many heartaches fed my feelings of not good enough, not worth it, why bother.
yet, full spiral i have come. led not by those paths and diversions, but by Me. the Artist in Me. the Creative. the Source. the free-spirit. she may be subtler at times, and distractions can be a real demon in a culture built on completely different values, but her voice will scratch at the back of my head and satisfaction levels until i listen and heed and just make art, and make art a way of living. the outcome is arbitrary. there is only now. and my true self and joy. and colors, lots of colors waiting to be freed upon the world again.
as i smeared around this crazy bright orange and magenta tonite, i felt what i've been missing so desperately in my very core for way too long... she showed her playful self with waves of joy in my very cells and eagerness in my movements and gaze and at just the feel of music playing and colors being combined.
i'm so grateful for this studio.
this room of her own.
and this blessed way of life i'm creating.