Space to breathe…
Remember back in the olden days when you had to save your work every 5 minutes in order to not lose it? Well, apparently Squarespace still operates on those principles - I’ve just lost my entire post. Somewhat ironically, I have been looking into maybe getting a proper typewriter; at least with a typewriter, there’s never any need to hit “save”.
Progress on the building continues to be slow. Agonizingly slow. Although, I also appreciate that particular reflection is likely just my impatience flaring up. Really, this is the pace that I probably should have expected. And some progress has been made. The quantity surveyor’s report has come back. The number at the end is big, but not prohibitively so. Which means that I can feel confident in continuing to inch forward with my preferred option for redesigning the space, rather than having to pause for a rethink. I am also in the process of scheduling the more comprehensive asbestos survey that needs to happen before demolition work can begin. And I’ve reached out to the wonderful electrician who rewired our house to get a quote on work for the building. Perhaps most excitingly (though I’m trying not get overly excited just yet), someone has said that they want to use the rest of the building for a project/business that I would be very happy to support. (Seeing it all written out like this is actually quite gratifying. More progress has been made than I’d appreciated.)
In the meantime, I have also been giving more thought to my space. Or, rather, my spaces now that it turns out I’ll have a small public space completely separate from the larger personal studio space. Yesterday, I started re-reading A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf. I read it previously, probably when I was in my 20s, and it didn’t really land. I didn’t get it. 20-or-so years later, I’m reading it differently. Obviously, a lot has changed in the century since the papers on which the book is based where written, but the underlying argument still rings true. I’m realising that my aspiration for the space - for both spaces - is to be able to temporarily step away from all of the noise and obligations that crowd out my more generative and creative thoughts. The grocery lists and other household chores. The artificially urgent demands of my day job. The family and social obligations that I fall behind on and wind up feeling guilty about. Although these demands undoubtedly look different to those that Virginia Woolf would have observed (and experienced) in 1928, I’m starting to think that they’re different in style but not in substance.
What I’m trying to achieve with this building, is to create an environment where there is: “No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.”
And I think that’s going to mean taking a big step back in order to critically examine what is actually necessary. Because what I don’t want to do is trade one sense of overwhelm for another. (Or, worse still, pile overwhelm on top of overwhelm.) Which is also where the typewriter comes in. What would it look like, for instance, to pare technology and screens right back in this space? What would the costs and trade offs of a more analogue environment be? Indeed, where would modern technology serve my intended purpose well? And how can I limit it to those uses, rather than absentmindedly reaching for it as the default? Technology is an easy example for me to call out, but I want to apply this critical line of thinking to every choice I make about the space. Which is a lot to consider. But then maybe that’s the advantage of things moving so slowly - there’s time.
