I can paint just about anywhere. Not because of any special skill but because I have painted in many surroundings. I have continued the habit of painting no matter where we’ve lived. The majority of my life-long painting practice has been at an easel or an appointed table somewhere in the house. The early years of my painting passion usually occupied one end of our dining table, which my husband always graciously accepted as life with an artist. Once we realized that painting was not going to go away, we began looking for houses with space-potential for an art studio, but the needs of a growing family always took precedence (which may be why we have moved through many houses). We’ve never lived with an actual studio: a small building separate from the house in which to immerse completely into artwork, leaving it as is when it’s time to come back to earth.
A studio is not essential to being an artist but it may be an important element to a thriving artist. It not only provides workspace, but gives emotional credibility to an artist from hobbyist to professional (simply meaning that some people buy some of your art). I am wholehearted toward art and will paint whether or not my circumstances are ideal; I will also paint whether or not my work is for sale. I need a studio for me: a place to explore who I am, and what I can become. I need space to grow.
The funny thing is that I have been the hardest person to convince that this investment is a good idea. Without getting too deep into the complications of my own experience, I think I can say that most artists struggle to belong. Selling my paintings has been, for me, a way to justify using so much time for art. It’s how we decide someone is a “real” artist even though art and business are two different things. I have tended feel that I have to financially justify a studio space before it can BE.
I share this bit of my own artist’s angst in hope that it will generate consideration of creativity as a part of the human spirit. From my creationists’ point of view, I see that we were made in the image of a Creator God. All of us. Not just the few with an inherited artistic talent, who passionately dance or sing or draw their way through school only to have that creativity later swallowed by real life. We have tended to treat the arts as extra, referring to them as specials rather than core classes. We have the capacity to be taught, to learn through practice. That’s how we master math and reading. It’s also how to become proficient at creative expression. Artistry is not a competition; it is a voice. We can learn to speak its language when the arts are valued and supported through whole-person education.
We can invest in this part of our lives.
Last week Mick and I met with a contractor to explore the idea of moving forward with transforming our studio-possibility into reality (I began trusting this idea in my previous blog post “Possibilities”). Now we have a bid on paper, sitting on our table, waiting to be signed— I’m not sure if I am savoring it or hesitating, but I will make sure it’s signed by the end of today. We are investing in creativity, in art, in the space to make it a priority. We are investing in who I am, but it goes beyond that.
We believe in the artwork can come out of this space;
But also the message to our children that they too can create when they give themselves the space in time;
And the impact it can have on art students who come to learn their own craft.
We believe in light and the sound of birds and the sight of changing seasons that will pour in through added windows.
And the charm of following a short path to a world of possibilities outside the distractions of the day.
A studio is not necessary to living a creative life. Its spaciousness will be a delight but it is only symbolic of space in time. A studio does not make an artist. We were created to create but creating still remains a choice based on values and priorities.
I’ve invested the time; now I’m ready for the place.
My recent paintings reflect that readiness. I have been absorbed by the color complexity of gardens. Not the orderly, sculpted landscapes of midwest suburbs but the random, layered, overgrown freedom of cottage gardens and wild meadows. Habitat gardens that nourish wildlife and build up what modern life tends to tear down. They speak of growth and change, rebirth and potential. Brambly gardens illustrate how I feel about crazy life in a world on overload. Weeds and all, it’s filled with intricate beauty and astonishment. This is creative life outside the studio; it’s where paintings actually begin in heart. The studio supports and builds on that experience by allowing larger supports (canvas and paper) and multiple works-in-progress.
Expanded growth.
It’s time to flourish.
