Actually, as it turns out, I have 25 square feet of space. I thought a 4 by 4 square measurement meant 4 square feet. Doubly wrong; my footprint is a 5 by 5 square. Math. I haz it. Also, there is no way in hell this feels like 25 square feet of space. Disbelief. I haz it.
During the Project Sewn hullabaloo, when I was frantically sewing in every spare minute I could find, I promised a peek into my tiny New York apartment sized "studio", which lives in the corner of our living room. The absence of a door means I keep it pretty neat--though to be honest, if I had doors, it would still stay fairly controlled. I can't work in mess, it's like the clutter seeps into my head and laughs at my puny efforts to ignore it.
The grandaddy of my setup is my standing drafting desk. I found these old school (literally, old high school) guys years ago at the online site of an LA vintage store. The proprietor liked my New York vibe, and sent me two desks, completely disassembled, for a thousand bucks. Including shipping. That's kind of bananas. He taped numbers to each part and I hammered and screwed them back together like a jigsaw, all by myself. There were 50 parts for each desk. GO ME.
Ruggy & I stand side by side at our identical desks, him typing away, me sewing away. Though the contents of my drawers are considerably more colorful. What can I say, it's in the genes.
One must always have a good selection of neutral toned serger cones.
Ziploc bags keep my trim neat inside my drawers. For real, the traffic from that sentence alone.
And now, for the stash. Get ready to have your Mind. Buh-LOWN.
BEHOLD! BEHOLD MY GREAT AND POWERFUL STASH! SURELY MY STASH BEATS YOURS! I WIN AT EVERYTHING!
I'm well aware of the laughable state of my stash. Having seen some truly magnificent collections in person, I'm not sure you can call this a stash. Or perhaps, this is a stash, akin to some furtive junkie's little habit hidden away in a corner, the precious, and those of you with shelves of yardage and freshly peeled grapes, well, you've got a BOUNTY. And my neverending jealousy.
To the side of this magnificent stack lives patterns I'm currently working on, pressing roll, swedish tracing paper (which is glorious), my ironing board, my wolfie dress form (also glorious, she rolls out when I'm working) and a By Hand London tote stuffed with pieces of PIPs. Handy for when I'm working on eighteen things at once and need to find a missing part...
Up top are technicolor writing instruments in questionable cans.
And serious ceramics. My favorite jar! All the way from Italy, and brattily secured from Mommaballoona, it survived my childhood and hopes to survive my adult years. I snag ceramics from my travels, the little white jar with my most used tools is from Dallas, the floral coaster (which usually holds a fancy libation) hails from LA.
The high ceiling helps with the small space, though I'm not using it for much else than a lofty feeling. The walls are decked with photography from Mama Ruggy, embroidery from Mommaballoona, and fingerpainting from my nephew, the next
Picasso (sans the ear stuff). [ETA: VAN GOGH! What. I was just making sure y'all were actually reading the copy. WELL DONE.]
Kai. Pride of place.
Apparently there is a decent amount of disbelief surrounding the continued existence of these chocolate bars. Yes, we are just that disciplined. Also, I have restocked the Mint, Brown Butter, and Sea Sat bars an undetermined number of times.
You know what's awesome? Ruggy, are you listening? You'd better be, I switched to Proper Capitalization for you... IKEA. IKEA IS AWESOME. My other half frowns upon that Swedish Giant. But IKEA been berryberry good to me. Stash shelf, desk shelf, orange magnetized doodad holder (guarded by Toulouse, thankya Lisette!) and desk lamp were all acquired at the Orange n Blue Beast. My zippers are arranged on the three knobs by invisible, separating, and short. Little tins hold ball point and silk pins.
And finally, the Crowning Achievement and Undying Disaster... like Yin and Yang, like Cain and Abel, like Whiskey n Coke (people, don't sully good alcohol with soda).... the machines. In the left corner! Weighing in at 15 pounds! The Elna Pro 5 DC! Ready to horribly maim me at any moment! Seriously guys. Thing One never really worked in the first place, and when she does work, it's because she thinks today will be the day she gets to kill me.
She won't even do knits anymore. YOU HAD ONE JOB. I'm in the market.
However, the sight of my Pfaff makes it all okay. Good lord I love that machine. I actually literally kiss her on the hood several times a week. Lean right over, and kiss her. Which reminds me, Lucille "Baller" Tiptronic is due for her three month review post...
Well! Did you think it possible to require SEVENTEEN PICTURES to get an idea of my tiny space? And I didn't even show you the windowsill! Obviously, my snap happy fingers betray me. Though I dream of a studio with big french doors and a cutting table, I still adore it. Et vous? Happy with your space?