There's no mistaking the artist. Smack-dab in the center, brush in hand, model near, and (some) curious eyes watching his creative process. The creative process. We all have it in some respect, whether it's through paints on a canvas, with a needle and thread, putting pen to paper, or slicing, dicing, and julienning with a sharp blade. You usually have a space where you put those talents to use. It's all yours, special and unique.
So it hit me on Easter Sunday, in the early evening...probably about 5 p.m...when the light streaming through the window was clear and bright. There are a couple of times in the day when sunlight gives everything an otherworldly purity. White. Softening the edges. I looked up from the computer, at just the right moment and saw it. My Creative Space. Sometimes I wonder how I work in such a small space. I dream of the day when I'll have my own house, with a huge kitchen. Endless miles of counter space. A built-in marble pastry counter where I can roll dough 'til the cows come home and the cool stone will be my friend.
But for the time being, I have a much smaller creative space. Yes, the cabinet doors don't close all the way. (The joys of a mid-century building and living in CA). I keep pots at the ready on the stove top because I use them so much. I roll dough out on a counter that measures smaller than a school desk. And you know what? It works just fine.