Oil on canvas, 12x12, commission
My lovely studio has sat cold, half-insulated and unused this past month. Peter and I set out to do the work ourselves, but in the end, it just didn't happen. We know a little bit about carpentry, but not enough. We have a few tools, but not the right ones. And friends and relatives volunteered to help, but in life's reality, no one has the time - or has it when anyone else has it.
So I had carpenters come and give estimates. One, a neighbor, had great ideas, but he really does historic-home work, and was just too expensive. Another guy never showed up. A third guy I just didn't trust.
Then a friend mentioned another a friend of hers who does carpentry, and was looking for work, and so I called and he came over, and the project is up and going again. He's starting today, and I should be painting out there by next week.
Throughout all of this, I have come face to face with a truth about myself. I am honestly not sure that I am worth the money that it will take to make this studio.
I balk at spending on something that is entirely for me.
If Peter or my siblings or my dad or stepdaughter needed the money, I would not hesitate. But the idea of spending this amount of money on myself brings up a turmoil of questions of self-worth and self-confidence - along with my perpetual questions about the course I've chosen here.
I have talked to myself about this. I have reasoned with myself. I have grabbed hold of my fears, of my hope, of my proving-itself-success, and for the moment, for this one moment, I have managed to quiet that doubting internal Carrie, have told her to go sit in the corner and just be quiet while I allow myself to celebrate.