Moving back in…reclaiming space


For many many years I shared an “art room” with my ex.  He had half the room, I had three quarters.  This room was really the heart of our home together.  We would spend time there every day, every night.  I would paint, he would build his radio controlled gliders, mess around on his computer or just watch tv.    We forfeited the spare bedroom of my small home to do this and never regretted it… who wanted overnight company?

It has been well over five years since we parted ways.    I remember taking down the shelves and packing up all his things that were in his corner like it was yesterday.  I have since painted the room, threw a large linen closet there, but have not painted in that room since.  I couldn’t bare it.  In fact, the only thing that I have done in this room has been computer work, and that I have been able to do because it is in the front corner with my back to all memories.

I have been painting in my classroom, which is nice but that means that every time I have a class I have to pick up and clean up the area for students, even worse get resettled to paint, design, bead again.  I’m up and down at least a dozen times before I have everything right in front of me.  Lately I’ve realized how absolutely ridiculous this is.

Slowly but surely I’ve been preparing myself and pushing myself to move back into my art room.  There are things I love about it, cork boards with pictures of family, friends, pets, Bob Dylan posters, there are great memories, but more so, it is a wonderful room in my house that I need to reclaim, to pull up my big girl panties and get past the pain of yesterday.

Most of my readers know, Jim has since died.  It has been a year and 3 months since he died of the very disease that tore us apart.  I have found as much peace as I am going to with all of this.  What has been described as cunning and baffling I will take with me to my grave.   It’s like having 75 pieces to a 100 piece puzzle.  I will never find the other 25 pieces.   Time has a way of hardening the skin, the exterior of the scar, but it remains there, it will always be there, it’s just one of those things you never get over.  But as I’ve learned with the loss of my sister, it does get easier, and life does go on, my life has been going on, but this has been an area that I’ve been avoiding until recently.

Last night I came into the room sat down, said some things I needed to say and this morning …I started moving my things back in.   I am reclaiming this space, moving forward, brushing off yesterdays dust and starting over.   My painting tables are now over in the corner that I avoided, a new space for me.    At the moment it is in utter chaos, but that is okay.  Music is blaring, music is my muse, with music I can overcome anything, the creative juices are flowing as to how I am going to set this up, where I am going to put all the crap I have accumulated,  and what I am going to do to feminize the room.  It’s time, and it feels really right.

In our own time, and in God’s time….


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