I mentioned here that I’ve taken possession of my new office after my husband moved to his new space in our formal living room —really it’s my “old” office as it was mine (hence the lavender walls) until my husband took it over three years ago. I’ve spent many happy hours in here in the past week and a half—would you like a little tour? (Click on the photos to make them bigger.)
I’ve shared pictures of the shelves before, but this is what they look like now. A few things moved around, a few books disposed of and a few more purchased.
Under my window, I have a white bench with some magazines, an African violet and some storage boxes for hiding messy projects (if only I could remember I put the projects in there…).
My desk—so wonderful to have room to spread out, and to have my little bits and bobs displayed. Last week I had some fresh flowers in that bare space on the left. On top of the hutch is my collection of old Nancy Drew books.
I love this glider rocker for reading, writing (I write most first drafts in long hand) and thinking deep thoughts. I’ve had this chair since before my son was born, and I spent countless hours in it, feeding, rocking and singing to him. We recovered it a few years ago so it could go in the office. When I’m not in the chair, one of Scout’s dog beds is. She divides her time between my office and my husband’s.
Next to the rocker is a lateral filing cabinet and hutch. I still need to purge the files as well as arrange the photos and books a bit better.
This is the armoire desk we bought for me when my husband and I were trying to share the office. It’s now my—trumpet fanfare—art station. I keep all my supplies here, and can use the desk top to sketch and paint. It also stores some random office supplies I don’t have room for elsewhere.
Having my own space means a lot to me. I can play music. I can shut the door. I control the ceiling fan, a major bone of contention between me and my husband. It means I (we) take my work seriously because we’ve made a space for me to do it, rather than keeping me bouncing from one place to another.
I didn’t realize until I had to share how much having my own space meant to me. Every other place I tried to work (except my bedroom and that was an issue in itself) made me feel I was on display and I was frequently interrupted. I felt like I “wasn’t doing anything” when I was sitting quietly reading or thinking or even web surfing for work. Now I can daydream, think, and read to my heart’s content and no one looks over my shoulder while I do it. Or asks me what’s for dinner or if I’m doing laundry later.
And that, my friends, is my new artistic space.
I am very happy.
|Scout is happy, too.|