Saturday, August 25, 2012

Wild Studio



Just the idea of "The Studio" is sort of Romantic. Where it is, what it looks like, who gets to visit. When I had one in NW Portland, a small and separate room, I would write about "Life in the Studio," as if miracles and deep thoughts happened there.

But truth is - it was kind of tough. I felt the pressure as soon as I entered the room, as much as I idealized it. It was only after I turned my studio into Lovelake that it began to feel more right. A decade later, I have a much different idea about work and where and how it happens.

At present I work in a big house on the river. The studio is where the living room ought to be. But this is what real living feels like to me and what a real studio is too. I live with the work and the work is my living. It's also the meal, the wine, the various concoctions. There's just me, it, the dog and it's all one. There is no "Life in the Studio" because it is already everything, everywhere, not separate in any way. A united blur. You could say I have no real studio or that the studio is everywhere. The latter is the truth. I treasure the openness of the space, the erased edges. One great big room to make (relatively) small collages.

In many ways there could not be a better time to read Wild by Cheryl Strayed. I am on my own, gone, ripped out, off and yet working on something very important. If you were to have told me a couple of years ago that I would be here, exactly here, I would have maybe scoffed, maybe swooned, maybe shuddered or all three. The threshold, looking back and forward at the same time. It feels raw though maybe that's not the right word. It's good to feel the things. It's good to make the things.

1 comment:

Stephilius said...

Beautiful. Sounds like you're in a "good place". In the world and in your self. xo