My 'creative tip'
You don't want to see my 'art studio'. Oh, all right. If you must...
It is a tip. I'm ashamed of it. No, really. I've always wanted a creative studio space I could be happy working in, however short a length of time. When I had depression I just didn't want to create art. I wrote, and wrote a good deal about my feelings at the time, but art - zilch. The spark just wasn't there, and you can't force something like that, no matter how hard you try. Writing - no probs. Anywhere and anyhow. In Costa's, on a bus, in the loo... On the back of an envelope, on a napkin, on my trusty phone. With a biro, stubby ol' pencil, goose quill pen on crocodile skin. Maybe not the last (oh, I don't know...). But you get the idea. Light-hearted anecdotal stuff, mostly. That's what I've always done, and even had some of it published. A year's supply in the local rag, and one or three in various magazines. And of course, now that the internet revolution is with us, it's even better.
When it came to artistic creativity, I just didn't want to do it at home. I'd sit at my work table and maybe do something - say a bit of collage, or start on an acrylic mix media - then boosh! - it was gone. That insy-winsy teeny weeny bit of enthusiasm was slapped in the face and dissolved into a soggy pile of nothing. I'd feel depressed and needed to go out. Anywhere. Sometimes just for a drive. For shame. I have a suspicion it all stems from the fact that my sub-conscious was engraved with the times I felt trapped at home with tinies. I had to be home sometimes. But being at home, especially in the mornings, was dire. So depressing. Boring. Afternoons - particularly late afternoons, heading towards evenings - weren't so bad. I was invariably okay by the evening.
I so wanted to be creative at home. Ideally to be out and about in the morning and creative in the pm. I attended an art group at our local community centre, and enjoyed it, on the whole, although depression still hung its ugliness. I considered art therapy, but I didn't want to paint/draw/collage my feelings. That's what writing did for me. No - I wanted to chuck paint at a wall or smear it in great blobs on a massive canvas in my conservatory/studio. I wanted to create 3D art and patterns and greeting cards and sculptures and ...you name it. I studied numerous images of other peoples' small home studios with green envy. If only... I read umpteen articles about feng shui-ing your art studio and I got very enthusiastic and motivated. Then, cruelly, the enthusiasm and motivation would be zapped in the bum. Drat.
Then the depression, beginning two and a bit years ago, was zapped in the bum. Now, mostly - and it's taken that long - I can be at home and depression doesn't rear its ugly wotsername. I don't like being in the house for too long - that's fairly normal for us - but I can be creative and be pleased. And not depressed. Oh joy!
I'm now in the process of attempting to beautify my creative tip. Water feature. Plants. Artwork. My odd collection of oddities (yes - that is a skeleton hanging over my desk. Don't ask silly questions. The white floppy thing is a huge candle that melted during the summer. I like it. Got a problem with that??), art materials. The usual things you find in creative studios. I've also got wild west stuff hanging around. I'm quite proud of the whole thing. My son loves it. Even in this state. If son loves it, that's fine by me. He's not tidy either (got that from me). So my next goal is to organize/tidy and post a photograph of the transformed area. Haha! Like that's going to happen. No, no. It will happen. It must. So I can stop being ashamed of it (determined nod).
All I've got to do now is decide what's rubbish and what ain't - and chuck the rubbish. Scary bit coming up. Can I just leave it and call it an art installation? Pretty please...