"An artist's studio should be a small space because small rooms discipline the mind and large ones distract it." – Leonardo da Vinci
Shocking images have emerged of various studios I have had. I have always tried to apply Leonardo's theory, but maybe his air conditioners didn't buzz and hum and drip water all over his drawings. Oddly, every studio has been on the first floor of a building.
All I need is desk space to spread things out. Nowadays, I do like having a desk with locking wheels.
I have two collections. One is old (curious stones) and the other is young (a stamp).
Actually, the old collection became too heavy and had to be dispersed in locations all across the land. One by one so as not to draw any attention. It's called fly tipping in the UK. The young collection is light and easy to carry around. I don't know if I'll add to it because it's nice as it is.
At my local post office I always ask for stamps instead of the disagreeable label they like printing out and sticking on regardless of its position on my carefully designed address lettering. Unfortunately, they don't like adding up the individual stamps and sticking them on the parcel. Once I was told 'because it will take too long'.
I try to change their mind by saying that I want the stamps because the parcel is for a young relative or a friend's child and they like to see the different pictures on the stamps and that they even collect all the stamps and keep them in a scrap book. One day I said this, but the letter was addressed to 'Her Majesty's Customs and Excise' and ever since then I've been given labels.
In Sweden, I was taught how to play chess by my goddaughter. She has one year's experience but is a good teacher. However, she has an annoying habit of placing her won pieces on the back rank of the board. To a beginner this is horribly confusing. I think she knows this. We also did some drawing. She beat me at that too.
I couldn't see the solar eclipse from where I was but I heard a lot of talk of how not to look at the eclipse. And what you would see if you didn't look at it. I watched it on a live stream through my computer monitor via a telescope sitting somewhere in the northwest United States, which is probably as safe as it gets. I didn't even get a crick in my neck.
Rejected insects from There's A Bug On My Arm. It goes against the theme of the book, but it was weighing on my conscience. I chose a stink bug over many other species because they get a lot of bad press. Like bed bugs. And mozzies. And flying ants. And scabies. And gnats. And midgies. And silverfish. And cockroaches. And stinging centipedes. And fire ants.