I don't know about you, but when I get into my creative space I am most likely to turn on my music and crank it up so I'm in total rhythm with the songs that are playing.
On Saturday afternoon and into the late evening I was completely in my own space; my music began low and soft - I had to clear my head of the clutter which was taking up every inch of space in the room.
I never know what causes this clutter to appear? Where on earth does it come from? And why does it seem if the room is cluttered, my head is cluttered too?
Just yesterday all was fine in this room. Was there clutter in here yesterday, I had to stop and think about this...then this little voice with arms not totally connected to it threw her hands up in the air and shouted at me, "No! Don't you dare take the time to stop and think about this prospect, if you stop now you'll toss this whole idea into the procrastination pile." Although I was a bit offended by imaginary friend, I knew she was right. The room needed to be cleaned and I needed desperately to start another project.
Soon I was placing glues with glues, mediums with mediums, paints were put away with paints...Oh hey, there's that beading needle I've been searching for, good thing I didn't sit in that chair. I put the needle into it's holder and pushed all the beading items toward the other side of the table. “Procrastinator,” the little voice prodded. I ignored, giving the beading items an extra shove clear to the back of the table. I walked over to the stereo and put the music up a notch, maybe that will drown the little voice out that keeps prodding at me.
A canvas caught my eyes as I put the last of the paints away...Oh this is just what I’m going to need. I pulled the canvas out and set it aside on the floor for later. Did I see that little voice shake her head at me? I turned the music up a notch.
I began putting scrapbooking items away; embellishments go in there, I tell myself. Putting like with like; stickers into the correct sticker files, inks and stamps with inks and stamps, papers with like papers...Oh hey, this paper would go great in that collage I'm starting, and I put that paper on the floor. I picked up another batch and began again, another color catches my eye and I thumb through to take a closer look, Yep, this could go in the collage too. The little voice prodded at me, “Keep working,” and so I went back to the stereo and turned it up two notches this time.
The rhythm of the music was filling the air, I could get away with singing to it now, I know all the words, and so I sang along to song after song and as the late afternoon became dusk I felt this prodding sensation in my head...the little voice with the unconnected arms pointed at the floor with her long fingers. I looked down and wouldn't you know it, there was a pile of papers on the floor. Now where did that come from, it wasn't there a little while ago?
I shook my head and turned up the stereo, the music felt good. It filled every static inch of the room now. I moved back to the beads and began putting them all away, you guessed it, like with like. Then the polymer clays went back to the drawer, lining one clay up against the next in neat little rows. “Looking Good,” said the little voice inside of my head.
Pretty soon, the little voice was gone, or was she just singing along with me. I scanned every table around the room. Each was neat, tidy, organized. It does look good, I thought out loud. Then the sound of a prodding little voice, the detached arms from its body seemed frantic, Is she pulling my eyes toward the floor? And there, on the floor was this lovely pile of papers and trinkets; a little of this, a little of that, a canvas.
I caught myself walking over to the mediums, pulling them from the shelf and setting them on the art table, glue brushes beside them, papers being torn, cut, and snipped. Scissors were pulled, pens for notes and sketches being drawn.
Soon the collage began to take some kind of shape, the canvas now had a blue sky, my fingers were plastered with decoupage, the music was playing and I was in complete and total rhythm. I was relaxed, inundated with the scent and the sound of my creative space; clean and organized, with a little clutter across the art table, a little clutter across the floor. The space felt great, I felt great just being in it. I glanced at the clock, it's much later than I thought.
Then I felt it, a little prodding (no that’s poking) at my right shoulder and the voice came in loud and clear. I turned and glanced up from my chair and there he was, DH, with clear blue eyes saying, “Isn’t that a Little Loud?” I smiled, sheepishly got up and gave the music a little crank up with a wink in his direction, and then turned it down to a soft low sound. He shook his head at me, a small smile crossed his lips. As he left the room I heard him say, “Looks nice in here. Collage looks good too.” Thanks,” I say as I glance around the room. "It feels good to be creating."