An Artist

She's itching for a studio. The basement floor in between the bed and the desk just isn't cutting it.

She wants a space to do it all because one project at a time isn't in her vocabulary.

It's not like her to have all of her supplies stuffed tightly in a closed armoire. She wants space to make, space to create.

She knows one day she'll get it to be it, to call herself it.

What do you do for a living? they will ask.

I am an artist, she will say. I am an artist.