I worked in my studio yesterday. It was a major event.
I made eight little pendants for my simple horse necklaces. Not a big deal, usually. Certainly not a big production day for me.
But it was significant. Because it’s the first work I’ve made since my knee replacement surgery last month.
My last post before I went under the knife showed the frayed mental state I was in. It wasn’t pretty! Even now, I lay awake at night, exhausted, my body aching for sleep, my mind racing at 90 mph. A litany of minor sins streams through my brain–all the things I need to do, all the things I have to redo, all the things that need fixing/making/writing/cleaning etc. After what seems like an eternity, I finally fall asleep.
But when I wake in the morning, all I feel is tired.
I’d be more worried, except my very good friend Jennie, a recent surgery patient, too (who was, incidentally, also the first visitor I “received” once I’d stabilized from the surgery) gave me a wonderful insight.
“It’s not so much the surgery, or the pain,” she mused. “The hardest part for me was when I did start feeling better. But I was so damn tired all the time. No energy!”
Oh gosh. I’d forgotten all about that part.
So once again, I have just the right words at just the right time.
I can walk without crutches. The pain is easing. I don’t have to wear those damn compression stockings anymore!
But my body is not healed yet. It will take more time, and I must be patient with myself. Exquisitely patient, no matter what the demands in my life try to tell me otherwise.
And Lydie’s advice was right. Yes, it might be easier to work in here if my space were cleaner, less cluttered, less dusty. Maybe I should have spent more time restocking stores with inventory, or even trying to get fitter before my surgery.
But when I come in the studio, and see the materials for my next big series of works, it makes me think of the exciting new ideas I want to bring into being. I see a studio full of everything I need to take that next creative step forward.
I must remember to ask, every day, when I enter this fabulous space, with patience, with gentleness, with respect and joy:
“What is it you need from me today, that this new work can be brought into the world?”
All it really wants, for now, it seems, is for me to be here, with love. And intention.
And so my studio, too, is patiently waiting for me to heal.