I am blessed to have space in my home for 2 separate studios. The one in my walk-out basement is my “dirty” studio, where I work with clay, glass, metal. It doesn’t matter in this space if I splatter mud, and I can cut glass and metal with no worries if bits fall on the concrete floor. The materials kept in this studio can tolerate a light dusting of clay dust with no ill effects.
Then there’s the “clean” studio which is on the main level, in a spare bedroom. Here, I can sew, draw, paint and work on craft projects and know I can leave them out and not find them covered in clay dust or glass shards when I get back to them. Here, this table, which was passed to us from Danny’s mother, holds some of my favorite things.
The angel on the left was found at a flea market during one of our junkin’ trips down south of Birmingham, as were the plaster tiles underneath the table. Sitting in front of the stained glass mirror is a box full of buttons, some of which came from my maternal grandmother’s stash after she passed away. She still was using a treadle sewing machine when she passed away.
The little girl in the photo is me, many moons ago. I like that a hand can be seen on the bench beside me. I think that hand belonged to my sweet dad. I’ll have to ask my mom to be sure.
The baby shoe is not one I wore as a baby. I found it at an estate sale and couldn’t find the mate, so I brought home the lone, well-worn little shoe and I just enjoy looking at it, often wondering how old that “baby” is now, if, in fact, he or she is still living.
The little handmade figure sitting beside the shoe has clothing, hat and shoes made of dried orange peel. Uh-huh, orange peel. I can’t remember where I picked up this little gem, but I’ve had her a very long time.
Driftwood pieces gathered from a northern California beach sit in a beautiful handmade wooden bowl Danny gave me. I’m not sure where he got the bowl, but I love the way the craftsman left the bark around the rim. The driftwood reminds me of our favorite trip out West.
This sweet little French artist was brought to me when I was teaching high school art at Brandon High School in Brandon, MS. A lovely friend, who had accompanied the school kids on a trip to Europe, said it reminded her of me and she had to bring it back. I’m so glad she did! I have cherished it over the years.
And lastly, some old keys that were my dad’s and some baling wire. Most of these keys belong to now-defunct vehicles and farm equipment. I enjoy looking through them.
The keys bring back memories of pickup trucks and tractors and being surrounded by cotton and soybean fields. I still remember my dad coming home from the fields in the evenings, his tanned skin and blue jeans covered in the sandy, white dust that flew everywhere in the wake of the tractors. Mom would have supper ready and we’d all sit down together to eat and talk about the day. What a wonderful way to grow up. How blessed I am to have had parents who worked hard, but still knew how to laugh and enjoy life. Such beautiful memories I have hid in my heart.