Previously a post suggested that art studios were each outposts of a separate sovereignty, neither geographically bound or limited to a particular era. This pervasive nation with its own standards and codes of conduct, its own notions of integrity and honor, can be found existing within the matrix of any semi-free society with an open economy. Can’t deny there are extravagant studios in the movies, and trust-fund dabblers can have anything they want, but that’s not how most studios begin, clearing out storerooms and repurposing garages. Founding a studio is a romantic enterprise in itself, already defying reality.
It’s not possible to aspire to be a serious artist without one, the studio is the artist’s most basic tool. No one makes much progress if they have to put it all away to prepare a meal, and the resentment of inconvenienced housemates isn’t conducive to creation -- art needs a separate space. Still, it isn’t reasonable to expect a studio to pay for itself for a long, long time, maybe never, and just the obligation of rent becomes the cornerstone of the artist’s commitment, a constant reminder to either be steadfastly productive or use the money for something else.
Once in a studio, the struggle begins, since without a boss there’s no job order to fill, no clear indication of what to do first, and there’s also no time clock, no scheduled breaks, and, perhaps most relevant of all, no paycheck. Without a customer, and at this point without a product to sell, there’s no clear indication of how to fill up the day. Once in a studio the artist is figuratively and literally faced with a blank page, the existential dilemma made graphically clear, finding themselves at a null point before stepping off in a new direction. The clear directive is to simply work, to paint and draw enough to find a voice while trying not to burn through a ton of supplies, since that money ain’t coming back, and to not waste time because the studio is being paid for with a day job.
Becoming rich and famous isn’t usually the prime motivator for those who step out on this path -- that’s on a different avenue in another part of town. Some are damaged people attempting to find wholeness, while others may be seeking relief from a mind-numbing occupation or perhaps they just enjoy spending time alone, and after all, it’s an inherited human trait, the desire to make things. Still, sorry to say, in most cases the world will be against the person who tries -- family members tend to be skeptical and in-laws don’t hide contempt, academics at all levels sneer reflexively while galleries demand that an artist be successful already, asking where else do you show before they even look. It’s a grueling soul-depleting gauntlet, and the attrition rate is high. For some the day-job wins out, a talented and motivated person working a semi-menial occupation might rise quickly, or just become addicted to a regular paycheck. Others learn to sustain themselves by adopting some regionally accepted genre, replicating a single subject over and over until they’re good enough to enter a local market, where some may thrive, but many artists with something original to say may as well stuff notes in bottles, since without a window to the public they’re likely to become isolated on an island of their own.
Studios pop in and out of existence at probably a greater rate than the galleries, the entire enterprise of art is in a constant state of ferment. They exist on a spectrum from new-age trendiness to bare-bones desperation, while many are productive and efficient workshops, and since they were just an empty space before the artist moved in, every inch reveals the personality of the artist perhaps more candidly than their art. Visiting several studios in an afternoon, look for local tours, reveals a lot about how art is made, offering the opportunity to ask questions and observe works in progress, all the while assessing the commonality and uniqueness of each situation. For anyone interested in truly learning about art, appreciating and eventually owning art, it’s a very good thing to do.
It’s not possible to aspire to be a serious artist without one, the studio is the artist’s most basic tool. No one makes much progress if they have to put it all away to prepare a meal, and the resentment of inconvenienced housemates isn’t conducive to creation -- art needs a separate space. Still, it isn’t reasonable to expect a studio to pay for itself for a long, long time, maybe never, and just the obligation of rent becomes the cornerstone of the artist’s commitment, a constant reminder to either be steadfastly productive or use the money for something else.
Once in a studio, the struggle begins, since without a boss there’s no job order to fill, no clear indication of what to do first, and there’s also no time clock, no scheduled breaks, and, perhaps most relevant of all, no paycheck. Without a customer, and at this point without a product to sell, there’s no clear indication of how to fill up the day. Once in a studio the artist is figuratively and literally faced with a blank page, the existential dilemma made graphically clear, finding themselves at a null point before stepping off in a new direction. The clear directive is to simply work, to paint and draw enough to find a voice while trying not to burn through a ton of supplies, since that money ain’t coming back, and to not waste time because the studio is being paid for with a day job.
Becoming rich and famous isn’t usually the prime motivator for those who step out on this path -- that’s on a different avenue in another part of town. Some are damaged people attempting to find wholeness, while others may be seeking relief from a mind-numbing occupation or perhaps they just enjoy spending time alone, and after all, it’s an inherited human trait, the desire to make things. Still, sorry to say, in most cases the world will be against the person who tries -- family members tend to be skeptical and in-laws don’t hide contempt, academics at all levels sneer reflexively while galleries demand that an artist be successful already, asking where else do you show before they even look. It’s a grueling soul-depleting gauntlet, and the attrition rate is high. For some the day-job wins out, a talented and motivated person working a semi-menial occupation might rise quickly, or just become addicted to a regular paycheck. Others learn to sustain themselves by adopting some regionally accepted genre, replicating a single subject over and over until they’re good enough to enter a local market, where some may thrive, but many artists with something original to say may as well stuff notes in bottles, since without a window to the public they’re likely to become isolated on an island of their own.
Studios pop in and out of existence at probably a greater rate than the galleries, the entire enterprise of art is in a constant state of ferment. They exist on a spectrum from new-age trendiness to bare-bones desperation, while many are productive and efficient workshops, and since they were just an empty space before the artist moved in, every inch reveals the personality of the artist perhaps more candidly than their art. Visiting several studios in an afternoon, look for local tours, reveals a lot about how art is made, offering the opportunity to ask questions and observe works in progress, all the while assessing the commonality and uniqueness of each situation. For anyone interested in truly learning about art, appreciating and eventually owning art, it’s a very good thing to do.
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