When we bought a lovely little brick home in our new state, the backyard was outfitted with a rusting metal shed flanked by gnarly tree bushes and lined with diagonally-embedded bricks. Now that I was a spoiled backyard artist, I knew this metal tetanus heap was sitting on the hallowed ground of what would one day be my new den of creative wonders.

Settled in and eager to unpack my many boxes of art supplies and maker tools, I began dreaming up my new space--this time I would be building from the ground up. Anything was possible, except for the fact that I had no idea how to construct a building.

Starting a big project where I have largely no idea what I am doing and have none of the skills necessary is one of my least favorite endeavors and is always incredibly overwhelming. I would spend hours looking out at that rusty old shed and seeing everything I had to do before I could even start building--tear down an existing shed, somehow uproot the trees around it, dig out a foundation, fill it with crushed rock, lay treated runners, so on an so on--each task was equally a mystery to me. None of it felt achievable.

I just tried to start moving in the right direction, certain that I would never finish, and sure that I couldn't do this. But eventually, often slowly, sometimes frantically, I built a fully beautiful studio in my backyard even though I didn't really know what I was doing. And you can, too!

The inside of this backyard artist studio is my new favorite place in the world. Every day I walk in and think Wow, I really made this? How did that happen? Is this real? The studio took a long time--October '16 to June '17--but now that it is finished I am in disbelief. I still feel like I don't know how to build a studio, yet here I am sitting inside the studio that I built.