Home as office as studio as home. Work as play as art as survival as work.
That could also be worded: Home as mess. Work as everything.
Which is not a bad thing, though Tavi might disagree about the mess part. I fantasize from time to time about another room, where yarn does not share space with piles of novels, and the sewing machine doesn't live under the silverware (which lives under the tape player), and the couch does not, on the regular, become a shelving unit. Sometimes I even fantasize about a studio outside of the house, a walk or train ride away, with a different view and a distinct purpose and a door that closes.
I'm sure one day I will have those things.
But I remember being a teenager, and having a room of my own, and a sewing space in the basement, and ample built-in storage. And I still dragged whatever project I was working on into the breakfast nook, into the middle of everything.
Maybe what we need is a breakfast nook.