If you’re new here, I’m Emily. I’m an artist who creates dimensional artwork with wool, felt, fabric, and all sorts of wonderful little bits I’ve collected along the way. I love making things with my hands, telling stories through my work, and sharing what happens behind the scenes—the beautiful parts and the tangled ones.

And right now, behind the scenes looks a lot like paint cans, boxes, shelves, and creative chaos.

A New Studio

This week I got all the walls in my new studio painted and part of the floors finished, which meant I could finally start bringing things over.

We have two buildings on our new property. One is our home, and the other is a wonderful old building with a commercial kitchen, a little apartment, lots of bathrooms, a huge storage room, and one very large open space.

When we moved, we put nearly everything into that big room while I worked on getting the studio ready.

Then, in my excitement—and perhaps a little prematurely—I decided it was time to start moving things into the studio.

Oh my goodness.

I have a lot of stuff.

At first, it was completely overwhelming. Boxes and supplies everywhere. I found myself wondering why on earth we carry so much stuff around with us.

But then I started opening the boxes.

Oh! I remember what I was going to do with this.

I forgot I had this fabric!

Ohhh… I have an idea for that.

Suddenly, unpacking became a little creative retreat for my brain.

Ideas that had been tucked away began waking up again.

And Then Came the Organizing

If you know me, you know I love things organized.

Everything has a place. I like things straight and proper, colors together, supplies where they belong. There is something about putting a space in order that makes my brain very happy.

Now, when I’m actually creating?

That’s another story entirely.

My worktable can look like a small tornado came through. Wool, thread, fabric, scissors, bits and pieces everywhere.

But when I finish a project, I like to put everything away. I need that little reset before beginning something new.

So naturally, when it came time to organize the new studio, I wanted to get it just right.

I arranged the shelves.

Then rearranged them.

Then moved them again.

I think I moved one shelving unit five different ways.

My sweet husband listened patiently as I said, “No, that isn’t right. This is better. Wait… maybe it should go over there.”

And bless his heart, he moved tables from one building to the other and then, on occasion, right back where they started.

I put Post-it notes on things. I stood back and looked. I checked whether the colors worked together and whether my supplies would fit.

And somewhere in the middle of all that rearranging, I realized someone else had moved into the studio with me.

Meet Tangle

Tangle is my little perfectionism monster.

He has a sneaky way of disguising himself as craftsmanship.

He says things like:

You care deeply about your work.

You just want to make it better.

Maybe you should try it one more way…

And the tricky thing is, sometimes Tangle is right.

Sometimes that extra look makes something better. Sometimes moving a piece, changing a color, or trying an idea one more time is exactly what a project needs.

Tangle can push me to explore ideas I might otherwise have missed.

But Tangle has one big problem.

He doesn’t know when to stop.

Wool Has Taught Me Something About That

Working with wool has taught me that creating isn't about getting everything right the first time.

You correct.

You adapt.

You add a little here, take something away there, and keep going.

Eventually, though, you have to decide that it’s enough.

So I finally put the shelves where I thought they belonged.

I finished painting the walls.

And then I attached those shelves to the wall.

That was my way of saying, “That’s it, Tangle. They’re staying.”

And you know what?

It felt good.

Could I change things later? Of course.

Will I discover six months from now that something would work better on the other side of the room? Probably.

But it doesn’t have to be perfect today.

It just has to be enough for me to take the next step.

I think that’s true of our artwork, too.

Sometimes we need to stand back from what we’re making and say, This is enough for today.

Sleep on it.

Walk away.

Come back tomorrow with fresh eyes.

Tangle can sit in the corner of my studio if he wants. Sometimes I might even listen to him.

But he doesn’t get the last word.

I do.

And now that the shelves are officially attached to the wall, I suppose I’d better start putting all that stuff away.

Wish me luck.

With heartfelt gratitude,
Emily