In retrospect, it was probably for the best that my laptop’s WiFi connection didn’t work for most of the time I was at the studio on my first day. The absence of Twitter forced me out of my new hidey hole and I slowly discovered the environment of the third floor.
First stop was the women’s bathroom where I admired the diamond steel plates on the stalls, and the soap collection — some of it handmade by someone in the building I’m guessing. After having moved my meager furniture collection using the person elevator, I finally found the freight version and the Free Cycle.
As I meandered my way back to 301, with its sad gray exterior walls, I found myself wishing I worked with a more tangible medium. One that involved tools you could hold in your hands and that could be looked at while walking by. In other words, one that was easier to see or show off.
It’s easy enough to pass by a sculpture, photograph, or painting and look at what someone has created. Liking a piece is not a prerequisite for looking. Even a “bad” piece of art can have some redeeming quality. A piece of writing is altogether different. I could spend days on something before publishing it, only to have nobody see it, let alone read it. My WordPress and Medium statistics are proof of that. And if someone doesn’t immediately like the piece? Then they won’t continue reading it just to appreciate the font.
Back in my mostly empty space to listen to the rain as I waited for inspiration to strike, I traced the outlines of old water stains on the ceiling (making a mental note to find a plastic tarp) and followed the trails of water on the floor outside my door from rain that had made its way inside.
With my time nearly up and with nothing to show for it, I decided that connecting my laptop would be that important first step in the creative process. Never one to pass up a challenge that requires sitting, drinking coffee, and clicking on buttons, I soldiered on until I was online, Twitter still there chronicling the imploding world outside.