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Eve Drewelowe autobiographical writing, 1980s
Page 3
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A Hilltop "Love of A Studio" ...... I had a Love of a Studio tucked under the pitched roof and atop the French Provincial stone mansion that that I had built at 626 Thirteen Street upon our return from "the VOYAGE." Do you recall our great (exploratory?) Experience? Our "Once-Upon-A-Time" voyage through space with the feel of movement in infinity around this wonderfully eye-stretching, incredible planet of ours which we so provocatively inhabit. From the great plate-glass window looking out to the East "I was able to see FOREVER"..... A brick chimney shooting up from its groundings penetrates the four story edifice - the (large?) three dimensional space - and opens to a designed fieldstone fireplace. Always toasty warm and private, this studio provided perfect conditions for unintterrupted concentration. No one would bother to climb the steps! At all times I felt freely comfortable to leave my work spread out and readily available to another day of wondrous opportunities! and anticiporitory efforts. I without fear of disturbance or the loss of a beat could leave my though lying out on the steps on the table. It was this studio and my addiction to my profession - that was in ESSENCE, the catalyst that held me together during weeks of I must pinch myself to remember to truly believe all the many happy fulfilling hours of productive painting this studio environment provided me. Yet the hours did not supply enough minutes....Never was there time!....I was always forced to stretch one minute to cover the work, the duty of two, and yet this was inadequate to satisfy an insatiable motivation! Fervent nostalgia grips me now than almost speechless emotional impact..... Presumably "The Band Played On" (illegible) 21 December 1987 I could leave my thoughts lying out in the (illegible) on the table (illegible) Out-of-this-world"-the top of the (illegible) (atelier?) we (thrust?) concern of disruption or (destruption?) Now I have nothing except the center of the floor and deprivation
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A Hilltop "Love of A Studio" ...... I had a Love of a Studio tucked under the pitched roof and atop the French Provincial stone mansion that that I had built at 626 Thirteen Street upon our return from "the VOYAGE." Do you recall our great (exploratory?) Experience? Our "Once-Upon-A-Time" voyage through space with the feel of movement in infinity around this wonderfully eye-stretching, incredible planet of ours which we so provocatively inhabit. From the great plate-glass window looking out to the East "I was able to see FOREVER"..... A brick chimney shooting up from its groundings penetrates the four story edifice - the (large?) three dimensional space - and opens to a designed fieldstone fireplace. Always toasty warm and private, this studio provided perfect conditions for unintterrupted concentration. No one would bother to climb the steps! At all times I felt freely comfortable to leave my work spread out and readily available to another day of wondrous opportunities! and anticiporitory efforts. I without fear of disturbance or the loss of a beat could leave my though lying out on the steps on the table. It was this studio and my addiction to my profession - that was in ESSENCE, the catalyst that held me together during weeks of I must pinch myself to remember to truly believe all the many happy fulfilling hours of productive painting this studio environment provided me. Yet the hours did not supply enough minutes....Never was there time!....I was always forced to stretch one minute to cover the work, the duty of two, and yet this was inadequate to satisfy an insatiable motivation! Fervent nostalgia grips me now than almost speechless emotional impact..... Presumably "The Band Played On" (illegible) 21 December 1987 I could leave my thoughts lying out in the (illegible) on the table (illegible) Out-of-this-world"-the top of the (illegible) (atelier?) we (thrust?) concern of disruption or (destruption?) Now I have nothing except the center of the floor and deprivation
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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