My Open Studio was yesterday. It’s a big art show/reception we throw each year to bring people into my otherwise solo workspace.
It’s quite the undertaking – the whole space gets transformed into a sort of sparkling rustic gallery, which trust me when I tell you is not how it typically looks. The tools get rolled away and the floors get cleaned and the walls hung with an array of artwork. My big farmhouse work table that is normally filled with a spray of half finished this and thats gets turned into a beautiful display.
The small rolling table with the butcher block top that normally holds my packing and shipping materials and whatever else needs a flat surface is transformed into a cute little checkout station complete with my 20-something retail expert daughter at the helm.
I love this Cinderella day. Not only because the space feels beautiful for a moment, but admittedly because I do, too. One of the things about being an artist, especially one that primarily sells through other venues, is that I don’t often get to be in front of people. Don’t get me wrong; this introvert rather likes it that way.
But I do miss it.
I miss the immediate feedback of someone discovering my work. I miss the breathless gasps, the quiet contemplations. I miss the connection.
I miss the nervousness of having taken a risk, tried something new, and seeing someone else embrace it.
It makes me realize how important all of this is, seeing these reactions first-hand. I don’t see it in an internet sale. I don’t see it when my work is at a gallery. It takes bringing people into my space, into my world, to make that real.
So what do you miss?
What about your work or life has shifted too far in one direction? What do you need to experience that you’re currently missing? How can you remind yourself of the joy, the excitement, the connection you once had?
Make a small shift. Even if it’s only temporary. And I don’t mean a vacation. I mean a new perspective – or perhaps an old one you’ve forgotten.
Not for forever. Just for a day.
As for me, today I’m back to Cinder-ella, the before version. Back to comfy clothes and slow breathing. And tomorrow, back to focused work and cluttered spaces. All will be as it’s meant to – for now.
There’ll be another ball next year.