A Room of One's Own

With a slight, knowing smile, she looks toward the camera in a daring and confident way that I'm sure seems somewhat unseemly to others of her day. But, she doesn't care; she's an artist and her every energy is spent sculpting, painting, drawing, or writing in her sanctuary, this studio. It's a bit of a mess, but she likes it that way because it makes her feel prolific. Experimental modern sculptures rest next to paintings atop disorganized shelves filled to the brim with sketches, books, and journals that overflow onto the battered and beaten desk, where she sits wearing very unfeminine trousers and a white cotton shirt. The chaos of this room -- her room -- makes her feel Bohemian amid the staid order of her indulgent parents' doily-filled home.

 

Here, she can turn on her record player and listen to Charlie Parker improvise wildly but expertly around a song while she takes brush to canvas to capture that genius in her art.

 

Here, she can read the Beat poets and write her own uncompromising prose for anyone or no one to see.

 

Here, she is free.

 

(I found this wonderful photo at an antique store and right away fell in love with her attitude and spunk. I hope that she always had a room of her own to create, and I hope that she was always as confident and happy as she is in this photo.)

Done