E43 Section 1 Intro
Some people dream of walk-in closets for shoes and clothes… I dreamt of walk-in closets for fabric.
And eventually, I had one – sort of. Metal shelves packed with fabrics, closets stuffed with trims and notions, and yes — entire rooms in my house dedicated to fabric and creativity.
Now, before you start saying “Lucky you” and picture some kind of Pinterest-perfect studio, let me set the record straight: sometimes it’s truly wonderful, and sometimes it’s pure chaos with me tripping over a cord, or a box, or a bin. But every corner tells a story about why space — whether it’s a full room or just the end of the dining table — matters so much to our creative lives.
Last week, in Episode 42, I pulled back the curtain on my professional design years — those long tables piled high with swatches, trims, and fabric reps who made every day feel like Christmas morning.
This week, we’re getting personal. We’re stepping into my fabric room (or what came to called that), and I’ll share how the spaces I’ve created over the years — big and small — have shaped not just my projects, but my sanity and inspiration.
Sometimes it’s just a table. Sometimes it’s a corner. Sometimes it’s a room. The real question is: what’s your space — and how can you make it inviting, inspiring, and completely yours?
We’ve talked about my early sewing years, and we’ve talked about the professional side of design.
But today, we’re stepping into something much closer to home — literally. My fabric room.
Now, I’ll be honest: I never started out with a big, beautiful studio. I carved out space wherever I could find it. And even now, with a whole lot more room than I ever dreamed I’d have, my spaces still have to do double — and sometimes triple — duty.
Yes, I’ve claimed a lot of square footage over the years — shelves packed with fabric, closets stuffed to the brim — but just like you, I’ve had to get scrappy.
In fact, almost every room in my house has pulled double or triple duty at some point. The guest room isn’t just for guests — it’s also my art paper storage, my quiet meditation space, and sometimes even the overflow gym. My so-called studio might house an industrial machine and dress forms, but it still shares space with video lights and storage bins.
That’s the reality of a creative life. It isn’t always neat, and it certainly isn’t always spacious. And you know what? That’s okay. Because it doesn’t matter if your creative space is an entire room, a corner of the dining table, or just a tote bag you pull out on weekends — what matters is that it’s yours. What matters is that we make it work. It’s the place where you give yourself permission to create.
So as I take you inside my own fabric room today, I want you to think about yours. How do you carve out a little corner for yourself? And more importantly, how can you make it feel like a place you want to return to again and again — a space that invites you to create— even when the space itself has to flex and bend to meet your life?
Because the truth is, your space will probably not stay the same over the years. Mine certainly didn’t.
When I think back, my fabric stash didn’t really start with “a stash.”
It started with a single project. After the high school carnival queen outfit, a friend of my sister’s needed her mother’s wedding dress updated to fit modern times. I still remember how it felt to work with that beautiful silk satin and lace.
Then came my own wedding dress. Then another friend’s. And before I knew it, I was the go-to girl for custom gowns. One bride became five bridesmaids, who each eventually became brides themselves, and suddenly I wasn’t just making a dress — I was outfitting entire bridal parties.
And with every gown came more trims, more satins, more beaded lace that I just couldn’t put down. The joy of shopping for, and finding these beautiful pieces was almost as intoxicating as making the dresses themselves. Pearls, rhinestones, sequins, beaded lace… if it glittered, I was probably buying it.
But during that time — I didn’t have a studio or even a dedicated room when all this started. I was living in a little two-bedroom duplex with a roommate, and the only space I had was the narrow strip between my bed and the wall. That was my sewing “studio.” When I eventually could afford the place to myself, I graduated to using the spare bedroom — but fittings still happened in the living room. Fabric billowed over the couch, bridal parties sat around the dinette table… it was a bit chaotic, but it worked.
That was really the beginning of what became a lifelong pattern: every time the projects grew, the fabric grew, and my space had to stretch right along with it.
Looking back, I probably should have introduced myself at the time with, “Hi, my name is Virginia, and I’m a fabriholic.”
And the truth is — I still am-in a slightly different way. Even with more space now, I still have to “work to make things work,” still have to shuffle and adapt every know and then, and still laugh at myself occasionally. Because that’s what a creative life really looks like.
Those sparkly years led to something I never could have imagined when I first started sewing between a bed and the wall of a tiny duplex: a whole room, set aside just for fabric.
When I built the house I live in now, I made one very deliberate choice — the middle bedroom was going to be for fabric. And once those metal shelves went up, well, it was like walking into my own private fabric store. Three rows of shelving stretched out from the wall, stacked high with bolts and bins, with the closet stuffed full of trims, buttons, and notions.
It sounded like a dream, but here’s the funny part — even with “a whole room,” I still didn’t have enough space. My sewing machines and desk ended up in the back bedroom, the dining room table was still my cutting table, and fittings took place wherever there was enough open floor. Space has a way of disappearing when fabric is involved, doesn’t it?
I’ll never forget the house blessing when I first moved in. The officiant planned to walk room to room, assess its use and say lovely words like, “may the food prepared here nourish those who partake of it” or “May each guest who stays here be filled with joy and peace.” Except he couldn’t. He’d fumble and try to think of something to say…He stopped, laughed, and finally asked me, “Do you ever do anything other than sew?” Uhhhm… no comment.
That moment made me realize something: even when you think you have plenty of space, creativity has a way of filling it up — just like fabric expands to fit whatever shelves you give it. And honestly? That’s both the joy and the challenge of an abundance of fabric.
So as you think about your own space, big or small, I wonder: how do you balance the delight of having plenty with the need to keep it workable?
And speaking of workable — let me take you on a little walk-through of what my creative world looks like today.
Over the years, I’ve shifted things around until I found a rhythm that really works for me. Most of the “work” lives in the front rooms now, while the more personal and “life” spaces are toward the back. The front room has become my sewing studio. There you’ll find my industrial machine set up, my patternmaking table, a few dress forms, and the video equipment I use for teaching and recording. It’s not a cavernous studio space, but it’s functional, efficient, and set up so I can move between tasks without losing momentum.
Then there’s the living room. Most people would picture a couch, a TV, maybe a coffee table. But mine - has long since been reimagined as my office and art space. I’ve got a drafting table, several rolling carts of supplies, an easel, and shelves of books and collage materials. My desk with dual monitors keeps me grounded in the business side, but it’s surrounded by inspiration. And yes, there are two comfy chairs to curl up in for reading or relaxing in front of the fireplace. So I guess it’s 95% business, 5% life. It’s the kind of space where everything has its place, because honestly, if it weren’t organized, it wouldn’t work.
And of course, there’s Cosmo. My studio cat has his own way of making sure I don’t get too serious. He’s been known to “borrow” supplies, stop my work midstream for a cuddle, or sprawl across whatever table I’m using that day. Caring for him takes some extra attention, but he’s as much a part of the fabric of this studio as the bolts and threads.
So yes, my house still leans heavily toward fabric and art — and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would I love a dedicated studio someday? Absolutely. Without a doubt! But I’ve learned that waiting for perfect space is a waste of creative time. What matters is using the space you have, and using it well.
Because in the end, our spaces evolve right alongside us. They reflect the season we’re in, the projects we’re chasing, and the dreams we’re growing into. And when you learn to shape them with intention, they become less about limitations — and more about possibility.
Here’s the thing about your space - It’s never REALLY just about fabric or furniture. It’s about how you manage your creativity.
For me, the only way to make my spaces work is to keep them ready. Chaos and clutter? That’s the fastest way to guarantee nothing gets done. Especially when space is tight, organization isn’t optional — it’s survival.
Take my little meditation and journaling corner in the guest room. It’s simple, but it’s always ready: notebook open to the next blank page, pens and pencils in a cup, lamp waiting to be switched on, coaster ready for a cup of tea. The chair is clear and pulled slightly out — not buried under laundry or linens. At any moment, I can sit down, grab a pen, and begin.
The same goes for that “gym auxiliary” setup. The yoga mats are rolled up in a bin, blocks and ropes are tucked neatly on a shelf, all within easy reach but never underfoot. When I’m done, everything goes right back. Why? Because when space is inviting, the barrier to entry is low. I don’t waste energy searching for what I want, I just get to the good part.
I use the same approach with my workday. I lean on lessons from the Full Focus Planner — things like prioritizing just three big items a day, or using the quadrant system: Do, Delay, Delegate, Discard. That structure helps me keep the freedom I crave without letting the to-do list swallow me whole.
The truth is, structure and freedom aren’t opposites. They’re partners. Organization is what gives me the flexibility to create, and keeping my spaces ready means I can lean into inspiration the moment it appears.
So let’s bring this back around to you.
Think about your creative space. What’s one thing you could do to make it feel more supportive, more inspiring, or simply more functional for where you are right now?
And I want you to hear this clearly: your success does not depend on taking over an entire room. You don’t need floor-to-ceiling shelves or an industrial machine in the corner to make something meaningful. The size of the space doesn’t matter — the intention behind it does.
Maybe for you, that means clearing off the end of the dining table so you can sit down without moving a mountain of stuff first. Maybe it means setting up a small basket with your current project so you can grab it and get started without hunting for supplies. It could be as simple as keeping a pair of sharp scissors and a spool of thread in the same drawer, so you’re not tearing the house apart every time inspiration strikes.
Or maybe your shift is less about organizing tools and more about creating a ritual: lighting a candle before you begin, keeping a notebook open for ideas, or playing a favorite playlist that signals, “It’s time to create.” Tiny actions like that lower the barrier to entry, which means you’ll create more often — and with more joy.
So let me ask you: what excuse have you been leaning on about your space? Too small, too messy, too temporary? What if you flipped that and asked instead: “What can I do with what I have, right now?”
Because here’s the truth: creativity doesn’t wait for perfect. It waits for you to show up.
When your environment supports you, it becomes a place you actually want to return to — and that’s where the magic begins.
And next time, we’ll talk about joy, obsession, and the art of playing. How those little creative indulgences — the ones that might feel frivolous at first — can actually be the spark that shapes everything that comes after.
