Friday, February 8, 2019

Working for Ourselves

“You knew what this was!” Katie calls down the hall after me as I go to retrieve her water bottle from where she left it in her studio.

I feel along the wall just inside the door to the tiny room where she makes most of her work, and flip on the light. I then crab-walk sideways around the jutting out branches, step over glass and cardboard and styrofoam to where her water-bottle is perched amid butterflies and congealed piles of glue, grab it and get out, shutting off the light as I go.

Her studio smells like sawdust, and I inhale happily, then close the door behind me.

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