Living in a house full of mess and chaos, I need a space to call my own, even if it’s just a corner. Tucked at the far end of the knock-through sitting room, in an alcove beside the fireplace, are three wide shelves, built for me by my Dad. Below them, an old wooden bureau, picked up for £30 at the local auction house. Its top pulls down to create a small desk. This bureau, out of the way of small fingers, is where I store my laptop, notebooks, pens, and all things stationery. The shelves above house a collection of particular treasures, including some of my vintage cameras, my knitting basket and the dala horse. Some favourite poetry books, my current reads for #theyearinbooks, my Persephones and a stack of magazines: Kinfolk, Oh Comely and 3091 Quarterly. On the top shelf, out of sight here, are my craft books, and a huge jar filled with vintage plastic knitting needles in a rainbow of colours. My favourite polaroids are stuck along the bottom shelf, and on the adjacent mantelpiece, a painting bought from a charity shop some years ago.
It’s only a small corner, but it’s mine. I still dream of the workroom that I had in our last house: a large original Victorian loft room, with high ceilings and a huge VELUX window. We painted the walls and floorboards white, and the light streamed in from the window onto my sewing machine table. It was a wonderful space for photography, always bright, and with the gently distressed white floorboards providing the perfect background. Perhaps one day I shall have a studio of my own again, but in the meantime, I have my little corner, and I’m really rather fond of it.
Do you have a space to call your own?