Every once in a while, the mess in my writing room overwhelms me, and I just have to straighten it up before I can do any work.  I always feel guilty about letting it get so bad and swear that I will keep it tidy from then on. You know the rest of the story. After a few weeks or sometimes days, it’s back to point where I have to fight my way to the computer keyboard.

Recently though, I’ve seen a couple of other creative workspaces, and to tell you the truth, they were a mess. In September I took the Landmark Society’s inside downtown tour. There were a number of lofts on the tour that were all nicely decorated and squeaky clean. Those lofts were inviting, but in direct contrast to the Pike Glass Studio which had things all over the place. I’d expected the studio to be a big open, airy space. Instead it was made up of many rather small rooms that each had their own purpose. One room had wooden boxes filled with hundreds of shards of glass all separated by color. Another room housed the kilns. A third had books and a computer. All the rooms had drawings hanging around and tools and bins and bottles of this and that. You could tell that real work went on there, and, of course, the stained glass windows they make are nothing short of outstanding.

Then I stopped to visit a friend who was in the middle of a couple of projects. If there was a square inch of table top showing in her workroom, I couldn’t find it.

I suppose that our creative space is messy because our inner creative space is also messy. I’ll often start with a bit of an idea, add to it, subtract from it, twist and turn it around, pulling a word from over here and a sentence from over there. By the time I’m done, I’ll think to myself, “I had no idea I was going to write that today.” Messiness works.

I’m glad I live in a universe where chaos can lead to truth and beauty. C’mon. Let’s make a mess.