Starting over
And a convenient discovery for a reverse ferret on what I was going to write this week
For reasons, which I will perhaps share another time, instead of luxuriating in the lull following two exhibitions and perhaps telling you all about it and how it went, I’ve instead had to confront the imminent necessity to move two desks, a six drawer thing on wheels, another large chest of drawers stuffed with fabric that doesn’t have wheels (the chest, not the fabric), two sewing machines and the assorted bits and pieces and heaps of snippets and rolls of paper and pieces of card and ‘useful things’ that all get dumped on, stuffed between or fall behind along with the dust bunnies 🐰
On the plus side, it’s a wonderful opportunity not only to have a jolly good sort out, but because, in the throes of exhibition prep, I became acutely aware of the utter randomness underlying my storage. It’s a legacy thing: ten years ago when we converted the garage into my studio and kitted it out, it was all on the basis of what things from IKEA fitted where.
Initially it was a super plan, because while the builders were doing what builders do and I couldn’t do anything else, I spent happy hours with squared paper, a ruler and the IKEA catalogue planning my shopping list of cupboards, shelves and drawers down to the millimetre. But once furniture was assembled and in place, a lot of the contents were (and continue to be) allocated a space based on where they fit, and not necessarily where it’s most useful for them to live.

For all the years since, I’ve fought against the inconvenient reality of having too much stuff squeezed into such a small space (exactly the same size as a single car garage, the car in question being the size of an average family car in the 1980s, not the inflated SUVs everyone has nowadays). Every now and then I’ve had a bit of a half-hearted purge and changed the desks around, but I’ve always secretly fantasised about emptying it completely - à la Stacey Solomon - and only putting back what I really love and/or need.
Until now, I’ve not dared. But it seems the planets have aligned, and I have three two weeks in order to do exactly that - at least with half of the room - before ‘people’ invade my space with drills and cables and goodness knows what else 😱
And it’s actually more urgent than that, because while I’ve been finishing things for the exhibitions, I’ve been using my daughter’s bedroom as a useful ‘holding bay’ - like Stacey’s warehouse - and said offspring is home a week from now on Tuesday for Easter 😬
Unfortunately, another hindrance to this whole malarkey is my inability to tidy a space without first making it ten times worse.
It’s amazing what you find down the back of drawers
Today I’ve been working my way through my desk drawers but couldn’t work out why this bottom drawerful of ‘snake’s wedding’ wouldn’t close. Luckily my wrists are skinny so I was able to squeeze half an arm down the back, and after a fingertip search, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was old show notes from a podcast episode I recorded with Gina Ferrari way back when!
So the stuck drawer is released but not yet sorted because I’m now sitting here on the floor, typing this with my thumbs instead. I haven’t listened back to find out what I said (you can do that, link below) but reading the notes through, I thought it would make an appropriate post in the absence of time to compose my thoughts and write anything from scratch!
Starting over
Where would you start if you had to start again?
If, and hopefully it’s a very big if - everything in your creative space: your tools, materials, archive, finished and unfinished work, disappeared without warning - what would you do?
Would it be an unfathomable disaster - to lose everything you’ve ever created, and everything you use to create?
Or would it be a solution to a clutter problem - albeit a very drastic solution!
Would you embrace it as an opportunity to reinvent yourself? Or would you feel a part of yourself had been lost forever?
You may be able to answer instantly, you may be tied up in knots and unable to think beyond the horror of losing it all! In a way, I find observing my thinking process the most interesting bit.
Maybe we have to answer another question first
To what extent are we all rooted in our past, with a creative identity that may have been decades in the making?
Or do we feel more free-floating, with an identity that cannot be defined by our possessions or even the things we’ve created?
Either way, should the worst happen, what do you do first, and what do you replace?
Gina and I were posed this conundrum by Sara, a listener to our podcast. Gina found it an easy one to answer quickly, whereas I was torn, finding it hard to distinguish what I need from what I want, and what I only think I need or want.
How about you?
Do you agree with our thoughts - or would you approach it in a different way?
“To be honest, once l’d got over the shock, I don’t think I’d rush to replace anything. I’d enjoy the emptiness and space for a while. Not sure if there’s enough room here for cartwheels (can’t do them anyway) but it’s definitely big enough for a yoga mat and some cushions. So maybe that’s where I’d start”.
So that’s what I wrote back then…and I think it’s the same answer today: start with the yoga mat and a few cushions, build from there.
What about you?!
Until next time, when hopefully I will have uncovered slightly more space - and my keyboard - and can share a bit more than what I found down the back of a cupboard,
You can listen to the original here, from three years ago! Where does time go etc etc…
It’s amazing what you find in old blogs, too…
The thumbnail photo for this post is a painting I’d completely forgotten I’d done, apparently back in 2012. I found it on my old blog when I was searching for the posts about creating my studio.










I’ve actually been giving a lot of thought to my studio space and what’s in it over the last few months. Would I start over, yes absolutely, my tastes and interests have changed over time. I have far too much “stuff” that I really can’t see myself using… wrong colour, patterned, it was the latest new product, a bargain, synthetic, keeping just because or for sentimental reasons and so on. The fact I’m admitting to this is probably a sign I need to pick a box or a shelf and deal with what I have. Thanks for a call to action!
I think if I was starting again I would not buy so many fat quarter bundles as I only use tiny scraps in my work. Will I give them away? No because as soon as I do I'll definitely need them!?