I am a weaver. I dream about weaving, I impose on my family my need for space for a large loom, and boxes, upon bags, upon baskets, upon heaps, upon trunks of various yarns and fibers. I made us move into a more spacious rental rather than staying in the cabin we own, just so I could have a room dedicated to my craft.
We were living for two years in said cabin - a 14'x22' (interior dimensions) little box, with two humans, a husky, 2 cats, and a woodstove. The bed was a small loft area, and Darlin' Man's bike hung from the ceiling. It housed the complete OED; a veritable library of fantasy, classics, and medieval literature; a canning and herb drying operation; a very large closet of clothes; and more ... and yet, fully a quarter of the floorspace was inhabited by loom and fiber and spinning wheel. So, you might think that my favorite place in the house is my studio. It would be a reasonable assumption to make.
And it would be wrong. I realized this the other day. I was cooking dinner and talking with a friend who mentioned how I'm always in the kitchen when she comes over and she's used to talking with me while I cook. I laughed and began to say how the kitchen was my fav - then I paused, as I realized that it was true. In my heart, the kitchen outranks the studio.
I feed people from the kitchen. I put up food for the winter. I laugh. I cry - over onions and over life. I am there everyday. I grew up in my mother's kitchen, and I dearly long for the day when 3 generations of the women in my family will co-exist in my kitchen, dancing the chaotic dance of making a meal. I am surrounded in my life by people who appreciate good food. Watching others relish a meal I cooked them brings me such joy.
I anticipate a life lived in both rooms, but in my house, the kitchen will always the heart - the hearth of the home.
And as we move in next month, you'll notice that the studio is more than twice the size of the kitchen, but the kitchen will get painted and arranged and settled into much sooner.