The Loft. The Artist. The Mirror.


So, I joined Effy Wild’s September Blog Along. This means a commitment to post something every day in September.

I can’t promise there will be a theme, though hind-sight is always 20/20 and one might develop.

While I have you here, I want to encourage you to become a patron of my writing via Patreon, where you’ll get member-only access to more developed themes and writing, Heart Messages, access to Heart Talks and more.  Go can check it out right here:


I moved back to New England from FL in the late spring. The whole summer has been an ongoing odyssey of shuffling boxes and furniture around my tiny loft apartment.  Both of my kids moved in with me in June. One has returned to campus to complete their final year of undergraduate work. The other begins unschooling at an amazing learning center next week (the Unschooling thing is a blog unto itself).  When we arrived with the pod containing the material trappings of our lives, it was clear at the outset that this stuff was not going to fit in the space.

A rush to get too-huge-for-the-loft furniture back down the three flights of stairs into storage, or to sell things off cheap through craigslist ensued. Yet, nothing could really get settled until Kid-the-Elder moved out in late August.  With this little bit of space to work with, we managed to get the apartment into functional order, knowing it was temporary.

Today, the last new-to-us dresser comes up those stairs. And seven more items get listed on Craigslist for quick-sale and removal.

My friends look askance at me.  “Still moving things around?”


See, home for me is not just where I come at the end of the day.  Home is where I spend my days.  I work from home.  I teach from home. I love at home. I’m an avid cook (now, in a 5.5′ galley kitchen).  I write at home. It’s “Command Central” for the busy-schedules of my family. It is, quite literally my Temple–the place where my Ancestors and Gods are honored, where offerings are made, where solace is sought. My home is a place of sweetness and spirit, beauty and centeredness, generosity and privacy. It is the hub where I gather community to me. It is the outer manifestation of all I am–my creativity and spirit, my longing for beauty and practicality, my need for solitude and community, my love for family, my hunger for sunlight and height.  So, for me, home is not just a the place where I drop my stuff, stick it in cabinets and closets . . . but an external manifestation of my internal landscape. Making a space beautiful, inviting, cozy and inspiring is my art. I’ve got about 700 square feet of “canvas” in this funky, crooked-walled, off-center, high-ceilinged, no-storage loft.  Every inch of it counts.

Today, a week after moving the Eldest back to campus. I am getting a sense of how this space is beginning to work. I’m feeling into the autumn light pouring in through the skylights. Unpacking the boxes that’ve been stored in my tiny bedroom. Seeing the shape of the loft area where the Younger slept this summer, and which will become my meditation/temple space.

There’s hardly anything of the furniture that came up in the pod from FL — only a couple of ocassional chairs, my bed and a cabinet a student painted for me. I am surprised by my choice of white for nearly everything–bookshelves and dressers, side tables and dining chairs. In a space this small, heavy and dark objects eat up light and space. But, even with all these very modern trappings, the space does not feel sterile. On the contrary, the antique wood floors add warmth. And everywhere — from the area rugs to throw pillows — are splashes of orange, fushia, teal, purple, lemon and crimson.  As I stand in the middle of this wide open space –where three steps lead me into the kitchen or the bathroom, either bedroom, the loft stairs or the main office/living/dining area — I smile deeply.  As I take in the light, the spaciousness above, the stark white and bright color, I think, “So this is what’s going on inside me.  This is what I feel like.”

Earlier this week, I watched Effy Wild share the beginnings of one of her paintings. The color was a gorgeous mash of brunt orange, gold, olive green, black.  She called it, I think, a “holy mess.”  She said she was certain that in the coming days, that the holy mess would reveal something the eye could not yet see. The mess would come to order. What seemed a chaotic layering of color on the canvas would be transformed.  And, indeed, a few days later, she shared the work in progress.

This is how moving into the tiny loft has been. A kind of beautiful chaos with continual movement toward the externalized function, form and beauty of what lives within me.  Now, as it comes together, I sit back and gaze into this mirror and ask, “What are you showing me?”

Here is photo of the progress.  More to come  . . . .

Living-Dining-Office 2 6-17

Blessings of Love & Power.



1 thought on “The Loft. The Artist. The Mirror.”

  1. Enjoyed reading about your move. Your description of home hit”home” for me, too. I love being at home and really live in my house. Hope you find safety and sanctity in your new digs.

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