Reclaiming Spaces

There's a layer of bright red plastic tile board gleaming through a crack in my new studio wall, the latter layer having been revealed after taking down our old kitchen. Under the nasty white formica counter walls was a beautiful fir clapboard, nontheworse for wear once we took the mastic off, gave it a cleaning then a coat of stain. That it doesn't match anything else in the room is no matter. It was sound, nice looking, and required less work to leave than to change, especially once we noticed the red tile underneath; can of worms, that!
Above the clapboard was a mish mosh of plywood which we've covered with homosote for a huge expanse of bulletin board. Below that, attached to the clapboard, is a deep shelf made of a thick board recycled from the old bar, and handmade brackets from the same stock hold it up. All this hovers over a big old wood drafting table, which came to us via a sculptor friend, now deceased, many years ago.
I approach this space with mixed feelings. It's going to take some time for it to feel like mine - the comings and goings of the family though this wide hall will prevent a kind of art-making privacy that I've known in the past, but I'm hopeful that it will inform my work in a positive way. I'd like to think that the streak of red peeking out at me will remind daily that what was once hidden can be seen again, what was old can be new; that having my own space again will provide an opportunity to reclaim a part of me that's been on hold, and that doing so will reveal some exciting horizons.