paintings on the wall and baskets of cards all around

I've had this dream for three years. I went to a show at the home of a local stained glass artist, Brian Strickland. It was amazing. His studio is always open. It is the basement of his home, an old converted church. Immediately I went home to try to figure out how I could make this happen for myself with my artwork.
My home, at the time, had great light despite being on the second story and jutting into a maple tree canopy. The north and westerly light streaming in the windows provided me with all the illumination I required. And the green canopy gave the feeling of being in a tree house. The white walls made a perfect display. Of course, as I started imagining a show for several select invited guests, I mentally painted the walls a soothing color that would set off the colors of my artwork. I had planned for several plant stands, sans greenery, to buttle baskets of my hand stamped cards of a theme similar to the paintings. Pier 1 has very reasonably priced wine flutes. A couple dozen would have served up a nice light wine to go with the whitefish or chicken salad in mini pitas. There was enough work for a show. It would have been smallish, but it was a small apartment.
Now when I daydream about it, I add red pepper humus in celery sticks to the menu. But I can't see the building it is in. I also can't see anyone coming. I have been ousted from that home by circumstance. It was my security blanket. The home I grew up in. It had beautiful energy. These days I am surrounded by so much chaotic energy that I can't see anything permanent in my future here.
Verta says that is why it is time to move. I've been dragging my heels for the two years that she has been saying this. Fortunately my collection has grown. I also have jewelry to add to the product mix. But I can't see taking all of this with me to go somewhere else. Neither do I see myself parting with it. Oh sure, some of this could be leftovers from dealing with my brother. The devil you know v. the one you don't and all. But there is more to this than that codependent enabling label that so many want to slap on my arse.
Very simply, the heart needs to be open to create art. It is never more open than when we are engaged in the care of others in addition to ourselves. The self is nothing to live for. if it is the only thing then it is pointless. I refuse to live a pointless life. But my art demands my heart be open to others. It just refuses to open to those who have designs on its freedom. So for now I am in limbo.