It's always that striving, striving for more, striving for better (or as it's perceived). Especially so after having Charlotte and turning 30, I've become more insistent about speaking back to the inner dialogue that often escapes me, running wild - just wait until you have this, or wouldn't it be so great if you could change that? Pause. No. You don't need any of those things. As the head of creative and the founder of this wonderful thing we're blessed to be able to do at Our Heiday, I realize that my social media feeds are often flooded by images of things I love (design, interiors, fashion, women in business), and they often lead me to a deluded sense of what it means to have "made it." Oh, that private office with high ceilings, arches, and velvet accents? The desk, gotta get that desk. As if those things dictate the deep call to create that's been formed within, before Pinterest, Instagram, the Internet were even things. It is a sad lie, that my work, my art, requires something more than drawing tools, paper, and water, and a notebook. I hope I remember this, no matter how big we grow or small we stay.
Especially in this world where the climb, up whichever ladder, is the true mark of success, I think it's important to pause and remember that the best ideas come in the quiet moments; they spark under the hot water running in the shower, or on a long walk, disconnected from where the tangible work gets done. So today, I'm sharing my work space. It's the one I've kept for the past two years and may keep for a very long time. It's small, tucked away in a corner to the right side of my desk, where I retreat when our design calendar calls to breathe life into the ideas that have been swirling my mind for months on end. It's a small, standing artist's desk and my paint brushes are tucked away in a cork pen holder that I miraculously found tucked away in Anthropologie's home sale shelf. My paints are kept in a bin. The brushes are rinsed in a gelato container that I saved because the packaging was simple and lovely.
Sitting here is where I remember that even Van Gogh painted in the most remote of places, the French countryside, and the greatest art wasn't determined by the spaces the artists occupied to create them. The Starry Night was painted in an asylum. Whether you're a creative, health care provider, or mechanic - the ability to use our hands to extend ourselves to others is the most beautiful work we have and I hope this encourages all of us to remember that the titles, the spaces, the things we have, they don't define who we are or what we do.
If you have a big fancy office, this is enough, too. My words are not a judgment on what people have or don't have, but an observation that the human condition often makes us feel that we're not enough, that what we have isn't enough. And as a business owner who is in an industry filled with beautiful things, it's the most freeing and rewarding thing to know that we exist for the people around us, not the sand castles we build for ourselves. Whether we move from this open new studio to another, or whether Donna and I have a big, private office one day or not, I want to remember that this is not the striving, to get to that place. The purpose is to keep bringing the things we believe in into the world, to connect with our team who makes it all happen, and to continue to listen to all of you, who have continued to graciously support what we do.
snippets from our 2019 Floral Line Drawings calendar
here's to contentment,
pat
