Me and the Spiders
Overnight the meadowlarks have returned to our fields and if you crouch down low, you’ll find shoots of green in every clump of last year’s dried grasses. Spring feels imminent here on the edge of the prairie and Remi and I go out walking to see these things most mornings - he in a carrier and both of us wrapped in a size XXL coat to fend off the chill. It’s never a bad way to start the day.
Though things continue to warm outdoors, in the grand scheme of my life I think I am sitting tight in the grasp of a winter that will be here to stay for awhile. It’s arrived on the heels of what I now realize was a years-long autumn that probably started back in 2020. That year was so productive jewelry-wise, but then…everything started to die back. It was painful. And frustrating. But necessary, too. Then, just before Remi was born? The spark came back. Autumn released me.
So, another spiritual winter - where I’m no longer purging myself of the things that don’t serve me, but I’m not in a place to start doing much new planting yet. Part of it is Remi, of course - babies don’t take care of themselves (especially the ones who refuse to nap during the day…) but it’s also just this feeling of resting up before a big journey. Like I’ve entered a time of little growth and lots of stillness where potential gathers and I wait to become.
Patience is key. A respect for the process is everything. This is a small window of time in which I can hone my craft, dive deep into storytelling, learn something new. I will not linger in this winter longer than is necessary, but I will not race away from it either like a bird flown south. I’m going to enjoy it while its here.
After all, winter has always been a favorite season for me.
And this is where I’ll be working for the foreseeable future - the sunny basement bedroom at the corner of the house. Just me and the spiders.
I was so sad to move down here. SO. SAD. I cannot see the horses from the basement, cannot really see much of the sky. I was more than happy to give up my studio so Remi could have a room all his own, but initially the whole idea of this being my workspace felt like such a bummer and such a downgrade.
Once all my tools were in, it started to feel better. Familiar. The horrendous texture of the walls was less noticeable after my bench and tables had found homes and after all the old cobwebs had been vacuumed away. There is currently no drywall on the ceiling so above me hang the innards of our house, all pipes and wires - but as soon as my eyes focus on what I’m working on, it all disappears. Even the view (window well and a bit of shed) haven’t ended up making me sad because I’m just so happy to have a few minutes to tinker. It’s also surprisingly quiet down here, with the feeling of being very separate from life upstairs. When I walk through the door, I can focus immediately (which is both shocking and welcome).
I think my initial upsetment was not so much about moving my studio into the basement as it was about feeling like I was putting my creative life into storage. But what I’ve realized is, while I’m making in a more leisurely fashion at the moment, I am still making. Slow, but steady.
In the last three months I’ve worked on only a handful of things : (most of) a new hat for Remi and some embroidered felt ponies. An attempt at a quilt block too advanced for me. A whole bunch of curtains that needed hemming. But now that everything is all set up, it’s time to start work on a bigger project. Something that sits closer to fine art than I’ve dared venture in many years.
Beautiful things can spring from humble places - and I say that from both the physical and phycological place in which I currently stand.