Your mom was right, clean your desk

The unclear desk...

is a haunting cyclical task. Similar to the nature of life, it is not simply reset each day, there are dreams of the future linked by looming considerations of the past all captured in a snapshot called now. Littered with knicknacks of inspiration, of comfort, of companionship, cheering you on or convincing you to jump ship.

The desk is the holy workspace, it is where we can never not come back to. The drawing board. We return with the hopes of discovery, of production, of success usually after things have been going wrong for some time. How do we know when things are going wrong? How do we know when to scrap the bullshit we're attempting or when to lean in to the breeze? Who and what do we consult as our point of reference?

When it comes to the act of creation, birth is simply the marking of the beginning. What of the mother afterwards, what of the baby afterwards? Support is necessary in some capacity, it is not enough to create something. You must give it the life it was birthed for.

What has succeeded in your power of creation and what has met untimely abandonment?

The power lies in our ability of endurance and consistency. What can we keep doing for the rest of our days? What support systems are in place to ensure maintenance supports as necessary? These are the problems of artists who can create glorious works all day, but starve by night.

To clear one's desk is to clear one's mind about the significance and biases of what has occurred there. Simply put, there is no getting around all the things you have done that still blister in your mind. There is no getting ahead of your to-do list because neither are real until they come into the material world. By the time it is in the real world, it has left your desk, and into the hands of the world, an insatiable audience.

The material world is where we most completely interact. Our desk is the podium before the world, it is the womb of our work's ascent into the material world. To clear the desk is to make room for what is next, whether that be creation, support, or maintenance.

You are the mother of your desk, you are its keeper and protector, it is your child that you neglect or you pour into, or you make it your best friend who should be able to take care of herself but she hasn't the tools to do so. Your desk needs you in the way you need you, to maintain the vessel that you are.

I love my desk for being a space just for me, where others may be invited, but none are required, yet all are appreciated for their support and presence. My desk is where my dreams called to be made out of reality.