closet doors, seeing, and being seen

I think this is my last blog post that mentions laundry, but I make no promises. It seems I get philosophical when I’m folding shirts and socks, in much the same way I get philosophical when I’m cleaning my studio. That’s what brings me to this post, really: the parallels in how I sort, organize, and clean. How it’s so very different from how my mother cleans. How we’ve relearned to live together. How we view the purpose of space.

I wrote before about adopting Marie Kondo’s method of folding clothes. Visually accessible storage has made a significant impact on reducing my stress levels, even before I moved back to my childhood home. When I was teaching, I was always trying new hacks to simplify, color-code, streamline my classroom storage and workflow. I never really got it locked down, but I did find some tools that worked for me.

When I moved in with my parents, there were designated Certain Rooms(TM) that were not being utilized well. My partner and I worked really hard to help mom with the task of getting these rooms to the point where I could have a bedroom and a studio, and she could have a sewing and craft room that was functional and fit her needs. My parents raised three kids in this house; somehow my mother remains convinced this house is now too small for three adults and we need to build additional space. We just need to use the space better (in my opinion). My studio? Also a guest room. I have as much of my earthly belongings as can comfortably fit in my bedroom, including the entire collection of art I have curated from various sources, but I downsized a lot before I moved here. And a lot is in storage, including what remains of my children’s book collection.

I don’t even know where I’m going with this. Oh yeah: I know where my stuff is because I use it. I see it often. I know why I have it. Because my studio serves double-duty, I have to keep it relatively tidy and most of my things are on rolling carts. I regularly touch my stuff. Same with my clothes in my bedroom. It’s a brilliant ADHD hack, really— I can’t forget I have something if I am in contact with it.

Bonus hack: I took off my closet doors.

I think there is a queer metaphor here, about moving home as an out queer person, after being gone for half my life, and immediately removing my the doors of my closets. But really I need to remove any barrier between me, and putting away my things. Executive dysfunction be like that.

My mom and I are so different. I like to see, to have open doors, open bookshelves. I like to be seen exactly as I am. My mom is more curated. The second guest room exists as a themed room. That’s its function. The door stays closed and sometimes she goes and sees how nice it looks, but if I put too many finished paintings in there, I have to move them because it ruins the vibe. not that anyone sees it, it’s just the idea of the vibe being ruined.

I’m always asking why. In my art. When I’m cleaning. When we watch TV. It was cute when I was three years old, but I get why my mom is annoyed by me! We have different ideas of “clean” and “tidy.” and I want functional space when she wants to hide the evidence of people living in the space.

I don’t know that we’ll ever agree. For now, we lumber along and share as best we can.