The move to my new studio . . . The anticipation of how I would organize the new studio occupied most of my thoughts last month. My husband, Gary, looked at all the art material on my tables to be packed and said, "Do you think this new studio will hold all of this Stuff???"
I couldn't believe my ears. "Have a little faith," I said, "I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm getting rid of at least a third of all these useless things that I've been carting around for years thinking I would make some fabulous art pieces out of them one day. I have come to my senses and I'm really clearing this junk out."
He believed me.
I enthusiastically entered my storage room with an attitude of elimination.
The first order of business was some boxes full of hundreds of metal "somethings." I call them "somethings" because I have no idea what they are. I got them because I thought I could tear them apart and get the little gears out and use the gears for art projects. I have a thing for gears. Of course, taking each one apart requires special tools and the strength of the Incredible Hulk. I pulled those boxes out of the storeroom and put them on the side of my studio on the "Get Rid Of " pile.
As I left the boxes there, an innocent thought hit me, "Before I throw those metal things away, what if I dug in right now, got those special tools, summed up the strength of the Incredible Hulk, tore apart those 'somethings', and got the gears out. The gears only take a tiny amount of space and the rest of the components, which take up large boxes, can go to recycling."
I rolled up my sleeves and attacked the metal "somethings" with a vengeance.
Half an hour later, with just a small blister on the palm of my right hand, little gears of all sizes dropped out onto the tray I was working on. I was glad I made the decision to do this.
Two days later, on top of the table lay a nice neat small box of brass gears, a completely worn out pair of leather gloves, three pairs of special pliers, a bottle of Advil and a four foot mound of unwanted leftover metal parts.
I felt such a cool sense of accomplishment as I tossed the useless unwanted pieces of metal scraps into boxes for recycling. I then looked over at the small box of neatly arranged gears that would give me hours of happiness and creativity -- not to mention how much space I had just saved.
At that point I began to have a conversation with myself:
"Too bad all these scrap components are going to waste. Some artist out their somewhere would probably love this sort of stuff. I can't imagine how they would use them. They are kind of ugly and have sharp things on them that would have to be filed off. No one could possibly use this stuff. Well maybe my artist friends in New Mexico. Maybe I'll save a few pieces for them, but the rest will go."
"Wait, are those engraved numbers on these things??? I have a thing for numbers. Don't do it, Cathy. Just put the scraps back in the recycling box, turn around and walk away. Still . . . these things could be used like a hinge on a handmade book or an ornament on top of the book, a weird book but . . . Don't do it Cathy. Put the metal DOWN. Okay . . . Okay, I'm putting it down."
I am turning over a New Leaf and it starts now."
With a sigh of relief that I didn't cave into trashoholism, I put the scrap back in the recycle box and walked away. Victory! My habits were changing. This new studio will be a minimal space where Feng Shui works.
They say, "Move on and don't look back."
That was my mistake.
Reaching back into that big box of metal scrap components, smelling the old engine oil, seeing rusty spots on everything (and those engraved numbers!), I knew I was keeping some, well, maybe all, because I might need them for a class. I closed the box of scraps and patted it tenderly. As I moved the box to the other side of the studio to join the other safe boxes going to the new studio, I felt a distant emotion I used to get a long time ago watching television on Sunday night.
When Lassie would come running over the hill to see Timmy.
