I’m writing this in a plane returning home after being away from my studio for four days. The trip wasn’t long enough to miss family, friends or home, but it was far too long to be away from my studio.
Surely artists have differing relationships to their studios – from a welcome, creative refuge to a dreaded place when they feel stuck and facing down a block or self-doubt. My studio is a peaceful, private space where I can enter internal realms of research, reflection and making. The physical act of leaving the ‘external’ world and going into my studio allows me to mentally disconnect from mundane life (knowing that it will be waiting for me when I leave the studio) and let my creative self roam. When I close the door behind me I can drop my ‘public’ persona and be unobserved. My attention can be fully directed to the ideas, materials and works-in-progress that fill the space.
The studio also serves as a sign to others of my commitment to my practice and that I am ‘at work’ when I am there and therefore less likely to be interrupted by daily demands. It is where I try out new ideas, finish work and make long-term plans.
But the lease expires in a few weeks; our building, with more than twenty artists, has its third owner in a year and in this speculative town we are once again looking for an affordable, usable space to house our various practices. Otherwise it is back to the interruptible kitchen table and the unlit, dusty shed.