My studio is my constant. Everything is always where I left it, everything I want to be in there is in there. The smell and light is always the same. It is like returning to a nest, and even if I am just popping in and out I know it's there waiting.

Sometimes I wonder about who would have to sort through everything if something ever happened to me, all the little drawers and containers and tins. The cupboards of boxes and notebooks of notes, jars, bottles, long drawers of ribbon and lace, miniature drawers of shreds of this n that. I imagine them thinking what on earth was she keeping this thing for. Gosh, there's hundreds of these ones..... how many can one person use? 

And then I realise it all goes back to my great aunts and grandparents, their big cedar tallboys with every drawer crammed with single leather driving gloves, pieces of hat netting, marbles, long white soft kid leather evening gloves too tiny for anyone other than half starved Victorian ladies to wear. Chinoiserie lacquered trinket boxes, broken jet bead necklaces, silk scarves, hankies, more silk scarves.... and I feel happy.



Tall drawers

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