Thou Shalt Not Mumble Obscenities About Big Bird
I know, I know, I've said this before, but seriously people: this new studio configuration is the best one yet. We've struck upon this magic formula of having every tall or looming thing at the door end of the studio, so as you walk in everything obtrusive is tucked off to the sides. Then the far end, the entire window half, has nothing above waist level. Nothing. Above. Waist. Level. It's like a vast prairie of calm, working mind-space. With air above your head so thoughts can bubble up happily. A studio neighbor stopped in and accused us of moving toward "lean manufacturing." Please know that both words in that phrase are a joke.
But dang. It feels really nice in here. Today we're hanging somewhat sheer white curtains across the bottom section of our windows in an attempt to make diffuse the painful laser beams of harshness that bounce off the white building across the street. All day long. Even in the least sunny city in the US. I don't want to curse PBS because, well, Big Bird for starters, but if I'm honest with you I have cursed them EVERY DAY since their new building ruined my soft afternoon light and replaced it with harsh sideways glare and before long you're trying to iron black binding while squinting through the glare, mumbling things under your breath about Cookie Monster being a bastard and come on, no good can come of that, right? So we're being proactive. Well. It's been a few years so I can't really claim that word with a clear conscience. But at least maybe now I can stop taking those puppets' names in vain.
Both current machines are lined up, almost as if I have a job or something. The workhorse Brother serger in back and the vintage Singer Slant-o-matic "Rocketeer" in front. It is responsible for the tidy double needle work you may have admired on recent creations.
Bonus cleaning reward: we unearthed a bag with doll heads, shoe lasts and gnarly plaster teeth. Crucial ingredients. For something. Some day. Hope Springs eternal.