A Post a Day in May 2019 #9: When is a table like a room?

 I have pledged to write a new post for this blog every day in May.

When Virginia Woolf wrote in 1929 that a woman needs a room of her own in which to write, I don't believe she specified either dimension or location. Indeed, I would like to think that she might, ninety years later, agree that the 'room' could equally well be space in one's mind, presuming a roof over one's head and a living wage in hand. The point, I think, is that room — literal or psychic — is necessary to do one's work. 

My partner, our cat and I live in a less-than-1000-square-foot house, and the room of my own is a table, in the basement. 

While we share a good-sized office, with two windows — one for each of us, and enough room in it for two desks each (one for handwriting, one for the computer), several years ago I decided that I wanted a dedicated space in which to house my art supplies and do my collaging. I was fed up, always having to pack up everything from the dining room table when a meal was coming. My project couldn’t compete with the inexorable larger needs of the house. 

So, I scoped out a spot below a window, in the warm and dry basement, and carved out my space: large enough for a big table-top, resting on two plastic saw horses that were kicking around. Not terribly elegant, but absolutely functional. Over time, I’ve expanded my ‘room’ to include a portion of a shelving unit and a 3-tier cart to hold some supplies, but the basic arrangement has not changed for many years now. And it works perfectly for me. 

Those 12 square feet (or so) are mine and only mine: I can start a project, keep it up and running without encroachment, and know, with confidence, that it will all be as it was when I return. And right there, that’s the value of a room of one’s own: It’s about having absolute  autonomy to use it as needed to do one’s work. 

Recently, when I had to dismantle my room for some small-scale renovation work in the basement that dragged out over a couple of weeks, I learned just how true Woolf’s point is. For without my table up and my art space operational, I simply stopped doing collage. Without the space to work in, I simply didn’t do that work.

Sure, my fantasy room is large, on the top floor, flooded with sunlight and accessorized with fresh flowers and comfortable chairs. But in reality, I have discovered that all I need is a table of my own in order to have a functional and productive version of Virginia Woolf’s room of my own. 

Do you have a room of your own? 

Thanks for reading. 

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