Hello dear friends and curious readers,
Today I’m feeling the push and pull between wanting to spend the whole day on the couch reading and wanting to get up and do all the things beckoning me back to the studio—while also wanting to take a walk through the neighborhood and enjoy the incredible, sunshiney, mid-70s, late-summer day in the city.
Six weeks in, the busy work of unpacking and organizing the studio has reached a crescendo, as evidenced by the video above. To be fair, half that mess on the studio table was remnants from the Mark-Making and Rust mini-workshop I taught in my online membership group last week. But it’s been filled and cleared again many times over—waves of supplies and stuff spread out, organized, put away. Rinse and repeat.
The studio shelves are beginning to look like somebody cares, and the pile of things I’m purging is growing. A friend noted, on a recent Facebook post about my intent to let go of as much as I’m keeping, that it must be hard to let go of some of these things. But to be honest, after moving so many times, the thought of it sounds more like freedom.
I no longer want to hold onto all of these things. What I want is to hold onto these moments—the ones where creating a work of art takes me away from the concerns of the day. The ones where the process of making brings me back into my very own body in a way that I can’t help but feel deep gratitude and love for myself—for all the experiences I’ve had and all the ways I’ve made my way through this life without the resources or stability afforded to so many.
Somewhere, I read something that struck me in a profound way. I wish I could remember who wrote it or where it was posted—my apologies to that person for not being able to credit them—but dang, their words rang true: that we aren’t holding onto things, we are holding onto different versions of ourselves.
It’s true that even some of the most mundane items I’ve decided to let go of hold treasured memories: a class that I taught, an intent for something I thought I’d be creating, a walk through a flea market, a moment with friends, a vignette in a former studio. Some of these things I can’t yet part with. Others bring back a time when I know I was a completely different person—so different I don’t even recognize that version of myself. Yet not so different that I don’t remember the role she played in helping me become who I am.
In the style of Marie Kondo, I thank each thing as I put it aside. I let the memory of what it was to me, and who I was at that time, slide through me, and I infuse it with hope that it will bring someone else the joy, inspiration, and excitement it once brought to my own life.
And so, as the stacks grow beside me, it feels right not just to release these things, but to offer them forward. Pieces of my studio and life—artwork of my own and others from long ago swaps, materials, supplies, fragments of ideas—are ready for new hands and new stories.
With love and gratitude to you all,
Crystal Marie
