Finding things

I have a friend who writes non-fiction books. He organizes his work in a very large room where he places numbered sheets on the wall for each page, adds post-it notes and memos right on the wall, stores chapter references and other odd materials in boxes underneath. Now I understand why!

My studio has imploded under stacks of small canvases waiting for paint to get me in the mood for the Southern French countryside, easels filled with large canvases for the Grandmother Narratives, stacks of references for writing the bio-gems and new stacks of books for the new writing project. I don't need a studio. I need a warehouse. I can't find my calendar. I feel like Andy Rooney.