House: That Spare Room, Making Space

There's nowhere for knees under the table

There's a table which can be used as a desk.
Who do I want to be?
Yes, clothes.
What do I want to be?
Notes from college.
How do I want to express me?
Baby-book, photo's. Unused instruments.

Spare mattresses: a couch.

Are you afraid?
CD's, paperwork, stacks upon stacks.

First, make space to get in and out.
No, no fear.
Room on the floor.
No need to search.
Spare mattresses: a couch.
Just say, sing, play.
Like in the old days.
Be.
There's nowhere for knees under the table.

The instruments like living together.
Let go of belief and known.
If I take some time.
Be open, intuitive.
To become all I think I can.
Feel the road.
In front of the unsorted clothes and paper.
Put feet down.
It's not can't, we just don't.


Move forward, walk.

The instruments like living tohgether

House: Spare Room

Spare Room

Hurdy-Gurdy in need of repair and memories

We have a spare room.

A room without belonging 

without purpose.

It was different at first.

When we moved here
it was a bedroom.

My bedroom.

North-facing small.

Uncomfortable with too much space
- Im a city girl after all -
I left the big room empty.

Luggage, clothes...

I grew into it.

The room, the house.

The big bedroom
with view
is now boudoir

There is carpet, curtains, space.

And the small room
is now filled with
leftovers from periods gone by
things kept, saved.

Luggage, clothes,
CD's, books, notes, bedding.

It needs a purpose,
something to do
that spare room.

That spare room of mine.

I'm a city girl after all