One thing you learn when moving your youthful, financially challenged, sorry arse from one location to another at the whim of authority is how important is the concept of space. Especially, perhaps, for creative and intense minds, such as my own. Without the proper kind of space, or simply enough of it, any kind of craft becomes more difficult. In my instance, my writing suffered the least because of its need for a single tool, and its portability: a mere notepad suffices, and at most a laptop enables one to write a novel. But what about painting or sewing? Or brewing? The former two, I was able to do a bit over the past couple of years. But herbal or other brewing work got increasingly difficult on Simpson Street.
Nor is space only physical.
As Snape could confirm, with his relentless mind and razor-scarred soul, mental and spiritual space is just as important as physical elbow-room . . . maybe even more so. Like him, I apparently have a big personal space radius; but how easily it coexists with others' depends on them. I have a number of friends who I find, plain and simply, awesome. Living with anyone long-term can get touchy, but I'd live with them. I'd do art, sew, dance, read, watch movies, cook, and brew potions alongside them, too. I managed this for a few months, in fact, after leaving Simpson and moving in with friend Kelsey, who does have her Virgo preferences, but at least I had some mental space to work with. But before that, unseen psychological pressure was rife. I was made to feel ashamed --- stuff-shamed for having "a lot of stuff" (yet, for an average American 30-something, I don't); shamed for having my glass carboy full of cider where it sat to brew, and for my bike having no kickstand; criticized and judged, basically, for everything. For not letting my room door stand open, my stuff visible. For existing, it seemed. Just for being me. You don't need to hear shame aloud, even; past a certain level, you can feel it. Even in that sweet, spacious little Victorian house, thanks to other people living there, there was. No. Space.
Now, of course, my situation is wonderful, although still limited in the physical dimension (hence, a storage unit --- that freed me up a great deal, so the need to settle quickly on a less-than-satisfactory home was reduced). But I have mental and spiritual space like I haven't felt in years. Another kind of space, or breathing room, is financial, and right now I have a bit of that, too. Perhaps that accounts in part for my sudden power surge of reinterest in spiritual learning, art, alchemy, potions, and other, possibly space-intensive pursuits.
The perfect space, no less important than the right tools. What is a wizard without the tower, any more than a carpenter without the utility belt? And where, no doubt in a desperate and angry snit, on Earth would a bloke like Severus be without his lab? Until I do possess my own art studio and brewing laboratory-type spaces, I can dream and plan, via images like these.
If I had access to the castle's potion lab, I would probably attempt to spend many of my waking hours (and some hours when I should be sleeping) there: Look at this place! The potential of it all! The sheer infinity of possible combinations and techniques! Sadly, at Hogwarts this might be difficult. Even a diehard lab-loving kid would have to deal with the brutally unyielding mind and spirit of Professor Snape, and his thirst for plenty of space ("What is this?! Out, you dunderheads! I suffer enough of your idiocy in classes!") Therefore, the solution, as above, is first to dream. Then to get rich. Then to buy land and a home and build the . . . best . . . effing . . . lab anywhere, short of nicking half of Snape's s**t. Of which the man would most definitely not approve. A shame. Look at those huge bottles. What's inside?
Whether it be Snape's or another space dedicated to sheltering a blend of the scientific and magical, lab rooms by their very nature attract some people and repel others. The Unknown, a strong force in any lab, is scary to many people, just as both science (especially weird science!) and magic evoke fear in timid minds. The edge of control is always a fine line to surf here, so folks whose faith in their own destiny is shaky, or their relationship with God less than forgiving, may choose to steer clear. Some of these photos are more welcoming, others more sinister, even to me. Yet I can honestly say I could walk into, yes, any of these labs with an open and curious mind, to see what I could learn . . . even if I did decide on protective gloves as a prudent idea.
Can I curl up with an ancient, leather-bound tome of recipes beside the fire in this place, right about now? Ah, crapnuts. The only leather-bound potistry tome I know of isn't ancient --- in fact, it's not even finished, because I'm still compiling the damn thing. Real such books are rare. Thus, on my bucket list is a visit to some European libraries. Until then, there is the wonder of the Internet, where pages of the Voynich Manuscript and other masterpieces can be viewed, and nicked, for free. Hear that, people? Defend your local Potions apprentices! Protect Net Neutrality.
What a wonderful Gothic depiction! My experience in a comparative medicine testing lab does come into play here: On with the barrier clothing, or it's essays and a detention as punishment.
Seriously. All day. Particularly if the weather was inclement; but even on a day like this, I might rise so far into the zone created by this space, hours would slip away into bliss like liquid light
. . . provided I trusted my own abilities not to blow off my eyebrows in a puff. Which I do.
Pleeeeease, Professor . . . .?
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