Thinking Inside the Box

One of my projects this winter (I have way too many winter projects) is to clean up our tiny basement, turning it from a low-ceiling dumping ground for rubber boots, unnecessary counter top appliances and other assorted kitsch into a true scholar’s bastion. As an avowed minimalist there’s not much in the way of “stuff” that I attach much meaning to, and I’m unlikely to ever be any sort of collector, but one of the things I do value is my aging collection of printed literary material.

As you might imagine I do have a fair number of plays, but I also have some works of fiction, philosophy, poetry, and a collection of non-fiction works on topics like woodworking, agriculture, and of course stagecraft. As a theatre-maker, writer, farmer, and carpenter I actually do make frequent use of these materials, and organizing them has become increasingly difficult, especially as life has gotten in the way, and the basement has become ever more crowded with stuff we really don't need or want. So for the past few months we’ve been purging as much of the accumulated knick-knacks, bric–a-brac and chew-gaws as possible, working hard to keep only the things that we actually do need, or that do truly matter to us. I’ve been slowly sorting the more delicate materials that I want to keep, such as photocopied scripts and periodicals, into these un-glamorous but utilitarian plywood boxes.

I’m making these boxes in the shop one at a time, and then bringing them in to fill. I’m doing so not because it’s cheaper or more efficient than an off-the-shelf storage solution (it’s not) but because building the boxes one at a time forces me to be mindful of what I put into each one, and to only put in those items that I truly need to preserve for future use, either by me or, perhaps, one day by someone else.

The time it takes me to build each box also gives me a chance to slow down, reflect, and collect my thoughts about the plays I'm planning to direct this year. I think that's important. My life is very busy right now, and my creativity doesn't thrive on chaos. In the cool of the shop in winter, focused on little more than a hammer and a nail, my mind doesn't wander, it moves forward. It's where things slowly become clear. It's where I reflect, where I grieve, where I make choices about things I can make choices about, and where I figure out how to live with the choices made by others (including my past self) that are beyond my control.

I hope to be done cleaning up the basement by the time the weather starts to warm up, so that I get to work outside on some much bigger projects, including set construction for the upcoming season. Until then, I'll keep on thinking.