When I used to think of that someday when I would build a studio, I called it “my future weavery”. I assumed that it would be a long slog – full of details and difficult decisions and…mud.
I can tell you that the mud part was bang on, but the others…not so much. I think that the best decision we made was to find a reputable builder and trust their process. Like total idiots, at one point we figured “how hard can it be? We could do this ourselves, right?” but thank goodness we scuppered that idea fairly quickly.
Since I last wrote, the future weavery has become much closer to being in the present. The siding is on most of the structure, a lovely charcoal/black (depending on the light). The front of the building has no siding yet, because they haven’t yet installed the doors (a showpiece glass-paned garage door, and a lovely transom “man door” beside it), and they need that front space for other things. [Side note: can we just remove the term “man door” from the lexicon already? I get that it’s to differentiate from the garage door (“car door”?), but the term just drives me crazy.]
At the moment, there’s a temporary plywood lean-to built on the front, to accommodate a heater that they’ve hard-wired into our panel on the house. It’s been running for days – to warm up/dry out the place, and to allow for the slab to be poured and power-troweled. The electric heating mat was placed, and the slab poured over it. Next week they’ll run the electrical from the house to the studio (this step is where the mud comes in). I’m trying to ignore the tick tick tick of my electric meter clocking the amps from that heater.
I’m super pleased with the entire project. We’ve had a few bumps, but nothing big, and nothing that makes me lose sleep. In the interest of giving information to others who might want to do this, I want to mention a few things that took us by surprise. The site manager took me into the structure before the slab was poured, and it was gorgeous. Warm, on a middling-cold March day, partly from the heater but also because of the neatly insulated walls, and early spring sunlight through the windows. I mentioned that I was under the impression that electrical goes in prior to insulation etc., and he reminded me that this building is not entirely ordinary. It’s above code, and will have not only exterior walls, but interior walls. This is for several reasons – with the radiant heat, it’s important that there be as high an r-value as possible, and it provides a clean space for electrical and plumbing (the latter of which I don’t have). Traditional walls are entangled with wires etc, and doing it this way allows for more insulation and a cleaner route for any future re-wiring etc. that will not disturb the integrity of the outside envelope.
I had no idea, because my eyes kind of glaze over with the more overtly technical aspects of the service contract and plans, to be honest. Anyway, they’ll be building that wall soon and I understand the usefulness of it; I appreciate the builder’s commitment to creating a really sturdy structure.
What I hadn’t figured into my equation was that it’ll take up some of the footprint in what is already a fairly bijou space. For the sake of warmth and structural integrity, I’m sacrificing a foot, give or take, around the perimeter of the entire footprint. It adds up, but I’m okay with it. It’s better to be warm and sturdy than to have a drafty extra foot or so, I always say.
The building is, on the outside, 16’x24’, inside once all is done, it’ll be about 14’x22’-ish, roughly speaking. Still a good size, and still something I cannot believe will be mine. Another benefit of these walls is that they will give me lovely deep windowsills, perfect for plants, coffee cups, and weaving ephemera. It’s all good.
But it’s got me thinking about my current obsession with regard to storage. Really, I’ll have to wait until the drywall is up before I can measure for storage options. I’ve veered from IKEA to something more minimal, since the space I’m losing to the boring (but important) interior walls is about exactly what I’d planned on for storage. I don’t want it to be…busy. I want serene uncluttered space, something my eye will not drag over but will instead glide over. Weaving and the attendant accoutrements takes up space, and is textured and colorful, so storage isn’t just a fetish of mine, but a necessity.
I kind of don’t want to move my looms into what would be, essentially, an IKEA showroom. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right. (And, every time I look at the IKEA website it tells me that the shelves I want aren’t in stock, or there’s only one….) I’m leaning toward a couple of other options at the moment. Industrial wire shelving? Long wooden shelves with minimalist brackets? Closed storage? Built-ins? Dunno.
I’ve had to tell myself it’s not entirely necessary to have this all figured out right now.
And that, my friends, is the important lesson here (aside from making yourself familiar with building processes). It doesn’t all need to be finished. This is a process. I’ll absolutely be moving my looms in as soon as is humanly possible, but it isn’t a big deal if the fibre stays in the current weave room for a while. It’s not a big deal if it’s all in Rubbermaid totes for a while. It’s not a big deal. Given the (intentionally) “over-built” construction of this thing, it’s going to be here for a long time and it’s okay if it’s not turnkey ready for me the moment the workmen leave.
Another milestone was the floor. They tidily removed the dumpster to make room for the concrete mixer, poured it, and began to power-trowel. I don’t want a fancy floor – I want to move looms around, spill things, and not worry about it overmuch. It needs to be easy to clean – lots of fibre fluff and dust comes off the loom.
Concrete seemed the way to go, and I love the look of it. It will also conduct the heat nicely, and feel cool and smooth in summer. I had some things I thought were important – I don’t want it polished to a mirror finish because with all those windows I was afraid I’d go blind from glare, but I wanted it sealed in order to keep it clean. I want it to be smooth, so the power trowel made sense to me. Currently, I use the heated floors in our bathroom to dry wet-finished items, and it’s perfect; I wanted to do that in the future weavery too. I weave barefooted – it’s my favorite state to be in, and shoes get in the way when treadling. I hate socks, and want to avoid them whenever possible.
Turns out, though, that being able to communicate to the guy running the power trowel about level of smoothness is important. I had assumed he’d come by with samples or something? But instead I trooped out there and had to look at it, and tell him if it was smooth enough. “How many more passes should he make?” the builder asked.
Ummm. I had no idea. I ended up saying “well, just make it closer to the smooth side of the continuum, as opposed to the rough.” I mean, what else can you say? It’s like trying to explain colour to someone who’s never seen it. I left him to it, and went out again later when it had been troweled and sealed with as matte a seal as they could manage.
Looks lovely, and I never have to think about it again. There was some glare, but the sealer was still wet. If glare is a problem in the future, I can buy blinds, or lay down a rug or two.
In about two weeks, the doors will be installed, we think. Then, it’s going to really look almost-done. There will still be work, but it’ll look like it’s going to look, and we’ll be drilling down into the fine details.
This whole thing has been super-easy so far, compared to what I feared. I’m astounded at the quiet labour the workmen engage in daily, the industrious growth of something-out-of-nothing that I watch daily. I’m really pleased with the ease of communication with the builder/trades (they have an app!).