For the past several weeks, most of my work has happened upstairs in the office.

I've been writing, building websites, organizing photographs, planning collections, learning new systems, and creating the structure around the work. All of it matters. A creative life isn't made only in the studio.

But the longer I sat at the computer, the farther away I felt from the materials that started everything.

Downstairs, the studio was waiting.

So were the fleeces, the sewing machines, the hand-dyed fabrics, the tools, and more ideas than I could possibly finish.

The problem wasn't that the studio was messy.

I've learned something about myself over the years.

If my studio is spotless, I'm probably not making anything.

Actually, if my whole house is perfectly clean, it's usually a sign that my creative work has stalled.

That's because I don't work on one project from beginning to end.

I'll grab a piece of fleece from one basket, walk over to dye fabric for a lining, remember I need to cut cork for a strap, then stop to test an idea that's been sitting in the back of my mind for a week. While one thing is drying, I'm already working on something else.

That's just how I create.

A working studio should look like someone is actually working in it.

The trouble comes when the creative mess slowly turns into clutter.

It doesn't happen all at once.

One box gets set down "for now." A new tool arrives without a permanent home. Shipping supplies collect in a corner. Finished work waits to be photographed. Before long, the room still looks like a studio, but it no longer works like one.

I reached the point where I was spending too much time looking for things and not enough time making them.

This past week I stopped trying to clean the studio and started figuring out how I actually use it.

What needs to stay within reach?

What deserves a permanent home?

What can be stored somewhere else?

I found homes for the tools I use every day, moved other things into storage, and finally let go of some items I knew I wasn't going to use again.

Some went onto Facebook Marketplace.

Others went to our local food bank thrift store, where hopefully they'll help someone else create something.

Little by little, the room began to open up.

And I could think again.

I wasn't creating a picture-perfect studio.

I was creating a studio that works the way I work.

Then Frank quietly tackled something I'd been looking at for months.

He cleaned up my back wall.

It had slowly become another place where things collected instead of a place that inspired me. Walking into the studio now feels different. There's space to move, space to think, and space for the next project to begin.

The funny thing is, there are still projects everywhere.

There are bags waiting for hardware, fleece ready to be sorted, fabric waiting to be dyed, sketches on my desk, and ideas scattered across the worktables.

That's exactly how it should be.

The goal was never a spotless studio.

The goal was to create enough breathing room for the work.

Because the work is always a little messy.

And honestly…

I hope it always will be.

I'm looking forward to getting my hands back into the wool.

~ Karen