Let me introduce you
to my primary workspace:
My desk area is a
pretty good picture of my personality and lifestyle—colorful, controlled chaos.
It’s nearly impossible for me to work in a sterile environment, because as soon
as I start doing anything, creative clutter results. Extra space is a luxury
I’ve never had much of. Every corner is filled, every inch utilized, and,
amazingly, I more or less know where everything belongs.
The items on my desk
tell a lot of stories, and they tell a lot about me.
The desk itself was
the best thrift store find of my life. I had been about to spend fifty bucks on
a brand-new model that was inconveniently shaped, but my cheaper-is-better
father advised holding out a little longer. I was sorely tempted to buy it
anyway. I’m an impatient person, and there’s a point when I HAVE TO HAVE IT
NOW!!! Plus, I like good-quality stuff. But, for once, I chose to listen to
Dad. We checked Goodwill, and what would you know, but there was a twenty
dollar desk, ready-made and in perfect condition, aside from some scuffs and
stickers. Once I got it into my room, I saw at once that it was the perfect
size and shape—as if it had been made for me.
Notice the sleek
black office chair? That’s probably the most expensive piece of furniture in my
room, aside from the bed. My generous grandma took me shopping for it, and I
spent a while at Office Depot planting my hindquarters on various chairs,
swiveling, adjusting, and leaning back, trying to find that perfect feel. Since
my creative calling requires me to spend about half my waking life sitting
down, it made sense to go all out to find a good seat. When I sit down in this
chair, I feel like I’m buckling in for a ride to another world, and it can
become a throne from which I observe a peaceful kingdom, a car headed down a
dark road, a horse trotting over the grassy hills…and so on.
I always keep water
close at hand. I’m kind of a water nut, actually. I prefer well-water,
specifically ours, and extra-specifically from the sink in the main bathroom. I
don’t know—it just tastes better. And yes, that’s a lid on the cup. I hate
dust.
That mound of paper
in the background is my deal-with-it box. Story ideas, newspaper
clippings, salvageable scraps, and everything else that I don’t want to
immediately file away, get dropped in there. Believe it or not, I just emptied
a bunch of it (as it had started to climb out of the box and across the books).
See the mug with the
pink roses on it? I found it in a hole in the ground. Years ago, I was playing
on a hillside near our house, when I looked into a hole that was an opening to
an underground trickling spring. I noticed something white sticking out of the
mud, almost like a bone. It was actually the handle of the mug. Dad thought
maybe it had been left there by someone who liked to drink from the spring.
It’s a mystery, and now it has the honorable duty of holding my collection of
bookmarks.
My art-books are in
the background. Most of them were handed down to me, and a large portion came
from an elderly artist whom I very much admire, and who has since moved away.
This distinguished lady had a history of working in graphic arts and was also a
fantastic fine artist. She did everything well. She would come to art meetings
and show off professional quality doll dresses that she made as a hobby
project, and a huge quilt covered with pictures of native plants that she had
drawn. As she was cleaning out her old art supplies, she made sure I got a few
boxes worth of things. She often let me know how good an artist I was and how I
could “make it” in whatever I pursued. I heard tell that she visited my art show
at the Sandy Chamber of Commerce and announced to the staff that she was proud
of me. I will probably never have time to read most of the art-books, much less
do the activities, but they give me something interesting to flip through and
get inspiration. Someday, I’ll likely pass them on to another artist.
That big binder
titled "Face Book" is my reference source for many of my characters. I
collect pictures from clothing ads, magazines, and other sources. Turning the
pages, you’ll find a clean-cut young man with nice blue eyes and the name “Dr.
Soren” penciled beneath him, a girl with a pert smile whom I’ve labeled
“Saffron”, a lovely black lady called “Eden Day”, and many more whose stories I
hope to tell.
Beneath the “Face
Book” is my fledgling movie collection and all the CDs I couldn’t fit in my CD
rack. The amazing Christian film “Faith Like Potatoes”, the true-life hockey
drama “Miracle”, the dream-like anime “Howl’s Moving Castle”, and the fairy
tale “Ever After” sit next to music by Gungor (folk/contemporary), The Afters
(Christian pop), Clannad (Celtic folk/contemporary), and Al Denson (early 90s
Christian rock).
Above is a rough
collage I made on the desk cupboard to cover the old stickers. The pictures
represent mankind’s inventions: writing on parchment, the abacus, a page from
an illustrated manuscript, the printing press, glasses, and the light bulb.
Underneath a picture of the telegraph machine, I wrote the first words
purported to have been sent over it: What hath God wrought? We do well to remember that our creative gifts have their origin in
Him.
This is my hardware.
These machines, modest as they are, serve me well. Note the wires that look
like a pile of writhing snakes. Only I know how to untangle this stuff, which I
do every Sunday when I take the laptop in to my grandma’s house to use the
Internet. I consider myself very blessed that I have no web-access from my desk
(or anywhere else in my house). I’m too easily distracted as it is.
My close-at-hand
supply shelf is perfect for pencils and pens (though not quite tall enough for
the glue bottle). Those little black boxes hold woodless Koh-I-Noor color
pencils that have brought the whimsical characters in Please Don’t Tickle the Tiger [link] to life, roughed out covers for
fantasy novels, and been a part of fine art pieces. They’re incredibly easy to
sharpen and have a nice texture. My only complaint is that I always run out of
brown ones long before the rest!
Clipped to the box of
markers is the envelope holding my ballot, reminding me that I have a patriotic
duty to perform. Voting is important to me. Flawed as our political system
might be, I was recently reminded by a poignant little comic by Will Eisner (bio) (from his book Graphic Storytelling and Visual Narrative) that it’s sure a lot better than the alternative!
In the story, a small country that used to have democracy has been taken over by a military dictatorship who say they'll clean up the messy system and make everything run smoothly by taking away choice. They allow one final vote, for what symbol will be on the national flag--the old flower image, or the new image of a mace. The citizens have a "who cares?" attitude, except for one frail old man who stubbornly insists on exercising his right to vote this final time, even though it kills him. His death helps wake the people up.
Everything run by humans is going to be messy, but I believe that God delights in turning messes into beauty.
In the story, a small country that used to have democracy has been taken over by a military dictatorship who say they'll clean up the messy system and make everything run smoothly by taking away choice. They allow one final vote, for what symbol will be on the national flag--the old flower image, or the new image of a mace. The citizens have a "who cares?" attitude, except for one frail old man who stubbornly insists on exercising his right to vote this final time, even though it kills him. His death helps wake the people up.
Everything run by humans is going to be messy, but I believe that God delights in turning messes into beauty.
The very top of my
desk is the domain of knickknacks. That
little frog used to glow with flashing colored lights—a prime example of the
kind of thing Dad puts in my Christmas stocking. The dolls in the background
are from my mom’s childhood, back in the pre-Barbie days. My eldest cousin made
the wooden sculpture of my name for me long ago. Behind it is my pop-up
leprechaun, one of those stupid things I bought just because I had to prove my
love of everything Irish.
On the other end, you
see one of my dozen or so porcelain dolls, which my sister Starla thinks are
terrifying and once made a short horror film about. She shut me out of my own
room while she did it, too. The bucket with the sailor on it is an antique that
came out of my late grandpa’s shop. As you can see, I have a lot of brushes. I
actually only use about ten of them, and the rest are there just in case. In
the above background is my color-clock. You may have noticed that the theme for
the desk area is BRIGHT COLORS.
Between the
knickknacks are my writing books and spiritual/devotional books. In scanning
the titles, you can see a glimpse of the unique environment I grew up in. My
parents have the ability to find common ground with a wide variety of Christian
denominations, while not conforming to the man-made rules of any. They taught
us to always ask questions, compare things with scripture, and not sweat the
small stuff if we agree about who Jesus is. This
eat-the-meat-and-spit-out-the-bones approach has passed to me. I’ve got The Case for Christ next to Blue Like Jazz,
and Debi Pearl (Created to be His Help Meet) on the same shelf with Madeline L’Engle (Walking on Water).
And here, just where
my eyes tend to go whenever I look up from my work, is a little reminder of
what I’ve been called to do.
Sometimes I feel confused and overwhelmed, the
colors of my many projects running together into a muddy mess, and the chaos is
out of control. What am I? What am I supposed to be doing?
I hope these words
will pull me back to the simplicity and joy of my God-given calling.
