I was inspired to post by Deborah O’Hare’s fabulous be-poemed silken pebbles. Down the garden is my studio. With its own pebbled path.
I built it many years ago, almost all by myself, originally as a Wendy house for the children, but with the hope that one day it would be my room of one’s own. It tilts, it leaks, and it hosts a variety of pests from mice to fruit flies from the nearby apple tree, but it also looks out onto the rose garden, is as peaceful as a place can be, and houses all my creative supplies (apart from textile based stuff which is in the house).
The corrugated iron base (how attractive!) is a later addition (do I sound like Dan Cruickshank?) and was necessary after utter vandalisation by a badger who threw planks and rocks seven or eight feet away, in a seemingly frenzied night’s work.
I come down here every morning to do a few pages (morning pages a la Julia Cameron), and read some inspiring text. I try to sketch, but I am full of the fear and loathing that often overcomes hope and desire when a skill has been lost through neglect.