I work hard at my job yet wonder what tomorrow will bring. My house is great too but nothing I can count on forever. This all feels rather insecure for my time of life, but no doubt I’m not alone. The thing that feels the most secure is the fact of art in my life, which blows my mind.
Earlier I mentioned an artists-night-out every Monday. Lately we’ve been meeting at the Basement Pub. The subject of The Studio came up as I am rather tentatively looking for one. As you can imagine, it’s not just a room for many of us. It’s not just a place to work. The very words generate all kinds of associations and attachments. Having said this, that’s all it has ever really been for me.
Well, does your studio define you as an artist? I used to get the “Where is your studio?” question all the time in New York. For years I didn’t get just what this meant - and it was of course a test I failed, as I lived and worked in Midtown, a supposed no man’s land for artists. But I made a lot of work in Midtown- admittedly some never shown, but the work I made in that flat is directly related to what I am doing now.
But the where, what and how of The Studio defines many in the art game and it is, as much as anything, a measure of their stature. It tells the world that they are serious, committed. That’s what they think anyway.
Some have said “Eva, you can’t paint in a basement” but newsflash: I’ve been doing it for seven years now. Much of Vive Chrome and all of Take Off and The Richter Scale were made down there. Sorry, but the studio is not the place where I conceive miracles. It’s the place where I execute, where I work. The miracles and Romantic part happen in my head, not in a specific room with a view.