I have not walked lightly on this earth; I have made too many things. I have left too much evidence. I do not make things for a purpose; the things are not important, they are not the reason for the time spent making them. They are here only as a result of my need to make them. Sisyphus, was, perhaps, lucky; he started every day without any evidence of his previous day's work. He was free to begin again, to spend his entire day making. There are times when I am tempted to take everything I have made to bits, to give away the excess and leave myself only one small box of materials to reuse every day, in a different way.
Yes, I was cleaning out my studio yesterday. It holds the evidence of a lifetime of arts and crafts; my lifetime. It is an amalgamation of material objects that says too much about my life and how it has been spent; I found far too many unfinished items for which I have no passion left. I have given away a lot of it; so much of the excess has gone to people who care about using it. But the things I have made, or had begun to make, remain.
I cannot tear them apart. Not yet.