From Work to Play
Shifting perspective with a move, and a few words
A corner of my old studio
One artist to the other artist: “How’s your work going? Are you working on anything new?”
(After all, art is serious work. )
For artists there has always been an historic pressure or expectation to work, to get work done, to start new work, to get into the studio to work. Studio= workroom. One works in one’s studio. An artist’s studio is where she works, creates new work. Art created over many years is one’s “body of work”. “Current work” can be considered a “new body of work.”
For 13 years I was lucky enough to rent a large, airy (15 foot ceilings! ) very messy, light-filled studio in an old mill in Pawtucket, RI. Neighborhood was a bit gritty, as mill neighborhoods are wont to be. There were a number of other artists there, and some wholesale businesses, a printing company, a yoga studio, a Taekwondo studio, a wholesale plant distributor, an acupuncturist, a physical therapist, and a brewery in the basement, as well as a number of other places I never really figured out about. There was also a freight elevator, and since a lot of my work consisted of large-ish paintings, the elevator was crucial. I was really fortunate to have that space, and to be able to pay for it. It was a dream studio.
Prior to that studio, I truly did have my dream studio, which had been built next to the dream house in the woods that I’d built with my dream husband on the dreamy 6 acres of Connecticut woodlands we’d purchased 10 years before. That dream studio was finished in 2002, and three years later my marriage imploded—it had turned out to be a dream after all, not real. And when I woke up from that dream, I woke into a nightmare. But that’s another story, from a long time ago.
This story is about how an artist transforms work into play by changing perspective—by switching up the viewpoint from studio/workroom to studio/playroom. Having a large studio space separate from one’s abode is a luxury, for sure, and it’s also a dangerous thing. My studio became a home away from home, and was filled with not only paintings, sculpture, drawings, books, tools, furniture, materials, supplies, and what-not; it was also home to loads of boxes filled with God-knew-what that had trailed behind me after leaving my marriage. Boxes of memories, slides from my undergrad years, photograph albums, my daughters’ old school projects and etc. Boxes of my previous life that I hadn’t opened in 15 years. Even longer.
When I turned 70 last year, and looked around at my glorious studio space filled with decades of work, as well as decades of my past, I was overwhelmed. Terrified, actually. I knew I needed to address the letting go. The rent had steadily increased, and I needed to downsize.
The older we get, the harder it is to transition. It took me several months to make the decision to let it go, and then another six months to actually move out.
Adios, old studio…
I sold stuff on Facebook Marketplace, gave away loads more, had a big studio sale, got rid of tons of tools and art supplies and artwork, and put my artwork in storage. I emptied out my spacious bedroom in the wonderful loft I live in, and moved my studio home. I was lucky to have help and support from a few good friends.1 I could never have done it alone.
My ”new” studio is less than half the size of my old studio, but it’s now my dream come true. There are still boxes I haven’t yet tackled, but I have plenty of room, and plenty of time. I’m not starting a “new body of work” because I’ve realized that this lovely space is not exactly my studio where I work.
It’s my playroom where I allow myself to play, to write, and paint or draw if I feel like it. (In my pajamas.) To read and reminisce and meditate, fold laundry, hang out with my little rescue dog (Ginger), and sit with my morning coffee or evening glass of wine, looking out at the urban skyline of Pawtucket RI, and down at the river below. I am supremely lucky, I know. 2
Eventually I will paint again. I’ve stopped putting pressure on myself to start; I just don’t feel like pushing paint around at the moment. I’m starting to do a little drawing, and some watercolors, for fun. It’s my playroom, after all. How lucky am I!
And I’m writing, which is deeply therapeutic.
We all go through transitions, but there’s no place like home. I am blessed.
You know who you are. 😊
I’m not going into how an artist survives… that’s a subject best left for a book.
Writing is my new (renewed) passion…If you appreciate Continuing Wonderment and what I’m sharing, please let me know with a comment, a like ❤️, and please subscribe, share, or restack. Thanks for being here… I truly value this community!
You’ve made beautiful spaces….!