Making Room: The Beginning of Our New Studio

Part 1 of The Making of a Creative Home Series

The future home of our family creative studio. New windows are in, new siding is going on, and inside, decades of memories are waiting to be sorted.

For years, our creative lives have existed in pieces.

A sewing machine in one room. Fabric tucked into closets. Art supplies stacked in bins. A weaving loom stored away until there was enough time and space to use it. Drafting tables folded and waiting. Tools and materials spread between homes, workshops, spare rooms, and storage spaces.

As artists and makers, we've learned to create wherever we can find room. But we've long dreamed of something different—a dedicated space where creativity could thrive. A place where supplies are accessible, projects can remain out overnight, and inspiration doesn't have to wait for a corner of the dining room table to become available.

This summer, that dream finally began to take shape.

The future studio will occupy the second floor of my dad's woodshop, a building that has become a family project in itself. With new windows installed and new siding going up, the exterior is already beginning to hint at what is to come.

The inside, however, tells a very different story.

The stairs leading to the second floor. Every trip up reveals something we forgot we had.

The staircase leads to a large room that has served primarily as storage for years. And by storage, I mean decades of accumulated furniture, antiques, supplies, family keepsakes, and boxes whose contents haven't seen daylight in a very long time.

Every trip upstairs feels a little like opening a time capsule.

The space as it stands today—a mixture of antiques, supplies, furniture, and decades of accumulated creative history.

The room is filled from one end to the other. Old furniture sits alongside boxes of fabric. Drafting materials share space with antique chairs. Family heirlooms are tucked between forgotten projects and supplies waiting for a second life.

As we work our way through the room, we've found ourselves sorting everything into three categories: keep, donate, and discard.

Simple in theory.

Much harder in practice.

Because every box seems to contain a story.

One of the first treasures we uncovered was a quilt from my brother's first-grade class.

A first-grade class quilt from 1988–1989, complete with painted handprints and memories.

Made during the 1988–1989 school year, the quilt is covered in painted handprints and the names of his classmates. It is simple, imperfect, and utterly priceless. Holding it in our hands immediately transported us back to another time.

It's easy to think of a cleanout project as simply getting rid of things, but moments like this remind us that we're also uncovering pieces of family history.

Not every discovery has been quite so sentimental, but many have been equally inspiring.

Tucked into the eaves were collections of textiles accumulated over decades.

Fabric rolls tucked into the eaves, waiting for a second life.

Many of these fabrics were purchased for future projects that never quite happened. Others were salvaged from old furniture or saved because the patterns were simply too beautiful to let go.

As someone who spends her days creating patterns and working with textiles, rediscovering these collections feels a bit like visiting an old library.

Each roll has a story.

Each pattern has a history.

One of many vintage textiles we rediscovered.

Some fabrics feel distinctly tied to another era, carrying colors and motifs that have long since disappeared from modern interiors.

A floral tapestry saved from the donation pile.

Others are exactly the kinds of textiles that continue to inspire my work today. Looking through them, it's easy to see the connections between historical design and the patterns I create for Lilyanne Design.

Of course, not every discovery has been related to art or design.

Mixed among the boxes was a familiar piece of fabric from a very different chapter of life.

A banner saved from a very different chapter of life.

The "It's a Boy!" banner that hung outside when my sons were born somehow found its way into storage years ago. Finding it stopped me in my tracks. This fall, my oldest son will begin his senior year of high school, while my youngest starts his freshman year. The years of school concerts, field trips, family traditions, and everyday moments seem to have passed in the blink of an eye. Standing in a dusty storage room holding that faded banner, I was reminded that every season of life eventually becomes a memory. Perhaps that is why this project feels so meaningful—not just because we are building a studio, but because we are preserving the stories, creativity, and family history that have shaped us along the way.

It seems that every item in this room carries a piece of our family's story.

The furniture has stories too.

An antique cupboard hidden beneath years of storage.

Some pieces have been handed down through the family. Others were discovered at auctions, flea markets, and rummage sales over the years.

A beautifully crafted antique rope bed. 

Many are dusty and in need of attention, but they remain beautiful examples of craftsmanship and design. Some may eventually find a place in the finished studio, where they can continue serving a purpose rather than remaining hidden away.

Then there are the unexpected treasures.

A handmade stained-glass duck rediscovered during the cleanout.

This stained-glass duck was given to my mother by my brother years ago. It had been tucked away in a basket and nearly overlooked during the sorting process.

These are the discoveries I find most meaningful—not necessarily valuable, but deeply personal.

They remind us that creativity has always been a part of our family's story.

And perhaps no object captures the future of this space quite as perfectly as this one.

A dress form waiting for its new home in the finished studio.

Surrounded by antiques and boxes, this dress form feels like a symbol of what the room is becoming.

Someday, this space will house sewing machines, quilting equipment, a rug punching frame, drafting tables, computers, scanners, light boards, a weaving loom, spinning wheels, felting supplies, and more.

Right now, many of those tools are scattered among several homes and tucked away in closets, basements, and storage rooms. The goal is to bring them together under one roof—to create a place where creativity is always within reach.

We imagine built-in storage beneath the eaves.

A large central worktable for cutting fabric, sketching ideas, and upholstering furniture.

Shelves filled with materials ready to be used.

A place where family members can gather to work on projects together.

A place where making things by hand becomes part of everyday life again.

For now, though, there is still much work to do.

We've only just begun. 

There are boxes we haven't opened and corners we haven't explored. There are decisions to make about what stays, what goes, and what deserves another chapter.

The room itself is far from finished.

Yet every trip up the stairs reveals something unexpected—a memory, a forgotten project, a family heirloom, or a tool waiting to be used again.

For now, the space is still dusty and crowded.

But little by little, we are making room.

Not just for a studio.

For creativity.

For family.

For craftsmanship.

For the next generation of things made by hand.