“If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?”
My studio is my creative haven. ‘Studio’ in a loose sense of the word, as a real one is something I can still only dream about, sadly.
It is actually just a vacant, pass-through part of my apartment adapted for my hobby tooled to suit its needs. It is a place where I am the only one that knows my way around, while others get lost.
Besides this inspiringly creative mess, or order known only to me, this space also has the quirk of spreading into other parts of my home as my activities spill over into them.
The first destination is the living room. Here, the low table and my corner of the couch become a protruding part of the studio when necessary – in other words, constantly.
The rest of my apartment also supports the weight of my
obsession and the ceaseless acquisition and hoarding of supplies that comes along with it. I’ve occupied every nook and cranny for the purposes of storage.
I have long since stopped keeping track of what I have in stock, what I don’t, and even if I do, where it is.
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