(Originally posted May 2020)
My neighbor in my studio building passed away recently, and his family held a little open house in his space. I wish you all could have seen it. Walking into his giant studio always felt like you were entering a magical/renaissance realm. He was master Grand piano refinisher and a well-known wood carver. His giant workspace was filled with pianos in various states of repair, and wood sculptures ranging in size from desktop pieces to floor-to-ceiling giants. And, oh, the tools! He had SO many of them, and they were laid out just as he left them— meticulously lined up at the ready. Little vignettes of plants, tools, sculptures, art supplies, and other curiosities were found in every corner.
Did you have a grandfather or father who had a bunch of little jars filled with various categories of hardware that were all super organized and cared for (and there’s a good chance those jar lids were screwed into the ceiling)? If you did, then you know the joy of exploring these items with reverence, because that’s how your dad/grandad treated these items. Rubber bands, nails, erasers, screws, thumbtacks— all carefully saved and given a dedicated place. Remember how you felt when you got to discover what was in each jar and old coffee can? That’s how this man’s space felt. So nostalgic, and carrying with it a wisdom about not wasting a single thing.
I don’t know what I’m getting at here, exactly. I just wanted you all to know that this guy lived a creative life like no other, and made his craft(s) his lifestyle. And that there was just *something* about entering the world he created for himself— from the little collections to the massive works of art— that made you want to dive a little deeper into artful, intentional living. Maybe that’s one of his many legacies.