l'atelier: layers and layers

A good thing about having your own room is that you can put out whatever objects you want and no one objects. On these shelves in l'atelier I have stacked boxes collected for decoupage projects that have not yet materialized, stones that were collected from beach walks and coasters sliced from the pine tree that broke my heart when it died last year.



A farmer built this 10' x 22' building as a chicken coop over 100 years ago. You can tell it's a coop because five windows line only the south side of the building, for the warm sun in winter months. On the opposite wall there are shelves where I think the farmer had his egg layers' nest boxes, but there is no sign of the boxes.

There are other items waiting on these shelves, like my oil paints (I tried painting here once), and my bouquet from Lesley and Brian's wedding nestled near the earth woman's arms in a favorite photo cut out of a magazine. When Don powerwashed and painted this room, I asked for a blue ceiling. You can see in the photo below how the tin roof was layered on rough sawn oak boards.

When I am in this room I feel that I am at the hinge of the universe, a point where there is neither time nor space. There is life here. Although everyone calls this "Ruth's atelier" it does not belong to me any more than it belongs to time and space.

It doesn't matter if the decoupage projects get done, or if the painting of Killarney stays forever in its stage of tonal study without the finishing layers of paint. I will keep adding stones to the collection on the shelf. These objects feel at home in a room of piles that are happily unfinished, but whole.