My unassuming workshop means the world to me. It's my space. My office/ studio/ workshop. My workshop was once a very ugly bar area in a rented house that had seen better days. That's how I first saw it, when I came to view our home during the pest and building inspection. My husband and I were both so over looking at houses at that stage. We'd sold our last house and were living with family, I was pregnant with Emerson, and we just wanted to find our new home. But the right home eluded us. We knew where we wanted to live, we knew what we wanted to find, it was just a matter of finding it. We thought we had found it a couple of times, but highway noise and gigantic cracks had put us off a few properties. In the end my husband viewed the house without me, on his way home from work. He put in an offer and signed the paper work before I had even seen it. But I trusted him.
The first time I saw my workshop I was a little in shock. We had wanted a house that was a fixer-upper. But I had not bargained for a home that was full of asbestos and needed a new roof and ceiling. As the building inspector pointed out all the faults, I walked around the weed filled back yard with it's millions of pot holes from a bored staffy, thinking I might cry. Dave was enthusiastic, despite the fact that we couldn't move in until the asbestos had been cleared, carpets removed, floor polished, walls painted and so on and so on.
When we viewed under the house I saw my workshop with it's marine grade carpet, large wooden bar and brick walls. And I saw it's potential. Dave and I
argued discussed in the car on the way home as to who had rights to the bar area. Dave saw it as having great man cave potential, and had mentally relegated my tools to the garage. I on the other hand had the financial argument on my side - that my workshop was capable of returning money, while his man cave was not. My husband is a good man, and I got my workshop.
Many thanks to the lovely Trudi Le Brese for coming and photographing my unassuming, well loved space.