My last child has moved into an apartment leaving a very large room empty. I know he won't be moving back because we actually bought the little house near the campus that he and his older sister are living in. I am torn between empty nest syndrome and excitement at a new chapter of independence and exploration.
I have spent the last week turning the room into an art studio. My husband built me a 3' by 4' desk with an adjustable top and lots of storage underneath. I have room for my oils, pens and inks, brushes, canvases, gesso, etc. I can see everything and have access like I never have had before.
Interestingly enough, I thought that I would journal just until I had room for an actual studio. And now wonder if there is art on a larger scale inside me. Does anyone else ever wonder why we even make art. What is the compulsion?
I wish I had a moleskine sketchbook that was poster size.
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