The Desk That Holds Us: A Love/Hate Story

Creativity, Chaos, and the Desk: Bacon, Matisse, and Our Workspaces

You rise and fall with my needs, a space I circle and return to day after day. Books pile on your surface, handmade cups overflow with pens and tools. A coffee ring, seemingly etched anew every day, lingers next to my hand as I type away.

I avoid you when I’m tired. Instead, I curl like a cooked shrimp on the couch, laptop perched on my knees, the heating blanket warming my toes.

You are where I do my greatest work. You are also where I often feel stuck, chained to tasks.

I adorn you with candles and lights, placing art on the walls nearby. Plants stretch across you, and essential oils pump soft scents into the air as I whittle away at ideas.

The books that migrate to you are more a statement of what I wish I had time for than what I can commit to: how to write, how to take photos, how to spend my time, and the history of art and colour. Journals tucked in between these are half-filled, reserved for when the computer simply doesn’t feel therapeutic enough.

You are a shrine to my creativity, and perhaps this is why we have a fraught relationship. Every day, I come to you seeking, pouring my energy and ideas into your surface. You in turn squeak with my movements. You hold aloft my tools and attempts at bringing ideas to life. You hurt my back, your chair hurts my ass, and I swear if you could talk, you would tell me to stop expecting so much from your limited area. How many ideas can one piece of furniture hold?

When I am most glued to your seat, it’s often when I hear the click of the dog’s nails on wood, announcing that it’s time to leave. The pressure to keep working builds, but with a huff, I leave you to chase ten thousand steps.

Looping around the neighbourhood, I return, much like the waves lapping against the sand. My hands float over the keyboard, and we start our little battle again.

Who knew a slab of laminate wood, a shrine to my creativity, could wield such control over my day and life? Four by two feet of authority.

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I know this isn’t my usual kind of essay, but the reality is this: our spaces—where we create—matter. They shape how we think, how we feel, and even how we work through creative blocks. Whether it’s a dedicated studio, a cluttered desk, or a temporary seat at the kitchen table, the point isn’t how much physical space you have—it’s how you intentionally engage with it.

A 2023 study on creativity showed that our environments influence us in significant ways. Researchers identified 15 physical attributes (like light, furniture, plants, and sound) and 7 spatial types (such as recharging zones, open spaces, or privacy areas) that impact creative thinking.

On the left is Francis Bacon, known for his raw, chaotic, and often unsettling works that captured the darker aspects of the human experience. Bacon’s studio was famously chaotic—a claustrophobic, paint-splattered space filled with torn canvases, piles of photographs, and discarded materials. It was a visual assault of disorder, but for Bacon, this was essential. He once described his studio as a kind of “compost heap,” where creative ideas could grow out of the mess. The chaos around him mirrored the psychological intensity of his paintings, where distortion and turmoil took center stage.

Image 1: Francis Bacon, Image 2: Matisse

In stark contrast, on the right is Henri Matisse, known for his vibrant, harmonious compositions and joyful use of colour. Matisse’s studios were often flooded with light, filled with carefully chosen objects like textiles, flowers, and ornate furniture. His environment reflected his emphasis on balance, comfort, and beauty—spaces designed to inspire a sense of calm and allow creativity to flow freely.

Seeing these two spaces side by side makes it clear: Bacon’s disarray shaped his visceral, emotional work, while Matisse’s thoughtful, serene studio nurtured his luminous and uplifting art. Their environments didn’t just influence how they worked; they were integral to the creative energy behind what they produced.

Personal Work

Shoreline textures

Hey, you made it to the end! The holidays are almost here, and I’ve got a little secret to share. Every year, I make 12 dishes for the table—if you’re Polish, you know exactly what I mean. This year, I’m going heavy on the perogies. Not only are they the family favourite, but I can make them in advance, which makes the big day of cooking slightly less chaotic.

Now, here’s where I need you. I’m on a mission to crack the code for gluten-free perogie dough. Attempt one? A total disaster. It crumbled, it stuck, it generally made zero sense. I’ve got a gluten-free neighbour who I really don’t want missing out on traditions we all love, like homemade mushroom perogies with my made-from-scratch borscht. (I’m talking fermented-the-beets-myself level of from scratch.) This is serious business in my kitchen, and I need dough that holds up.

So, if you’ve got a gluten-free perogie dough recipe that actually works—please send help. My table (and my neighbour) will thank you.