In the Burrow

I was proud of the moment pictured here. I texted it to my kids and sibs to show off a huge cleaning I’d just done, ready for the next set of works. I’m sure they were under-impressed, but they hadn’t seen the state of it before. It gets hellishly messy during a work cycle.

The workbench is old school and is something I love about working in our partially subterranean basement. (daylight basement;) I appreciate its spacious surface that can hold about 3 or 4 simultaneous projects with room to shove miscellaneous to the back. It’s an sturdy workbench left in the house by the first owners. It could be 100 years old since our house was built in 1915.

I have a tiny shed with beautiful light out back and I wonder why I am not out there. But this old workbench is so magnificent I feel drawn to it right now.

The quiet beneath the house with my cats visiting me between naps is sweet (or for naps); the young neighbors’ voices and music keeping me within space and time. My work habits will change where projects lead, but for now this bench is my center.

Shifting to working on my own has been both nice and isolating.

The coronavirus pandemic isolation hasn’t been very different than otherwise for me needing to stick around home (no consolation for the tragedy of it all). Its where I’m at right now and I’m finding it to be a good place in many ways.

I’ve always worked in a group setting before, in a co-op or atelier, with a ready-made community with whom to share thoughts and energies. So, I’m grateful for a bridge between isolation and community through a seminar/mentoring with Kimberly Trowbridge and a marvelous group of artists who are in a similar situation to mine. The seminar has grown from one co-lead by Kimberly, Mike Magrath and Klara Glosova through Gage Academy that supported some fortunate emerging artists through a year of way finding. (Check out our end of year show!)

I’m grateful for this place to burrow in for a while, supported by a generous community, to settle down to work, perhaps in a pause before the next unexpected thing happens.

And the cats are happy.