When Your Very Own Art Studio Wish Comes True - Part I
A 12x12 outbuilding on our property had been used for years for storage and my husband offered to turn it into an art studio for me. This might have been due to the fact my scrip scraps of paper were pouring out of our shared office and he was getting tired of my paintbrushes in the sink. Or that he just happens to be the best husband ever (more on that later). Once we decided to clean out the shed, things start to get real. How in the world does one begin to “have an art studio”?
Buy a birdfeeder
Google art studios
Panic a little
Let’s start with the birdfeeder, which literally was the first thing I purchased. The art studio, previously referred to as the “shed” had a big window and I visualized myself looking out that very window and I needed a well-placed bird feeder.
Then I slipped into the fantasy vortex which is other people’s art studios. I scrolled, I mooned over lofts, envied French doors leading to mysterious gardens, and none of it fit with the building I actually had or represented my artistic level. I was looking at professional artist’s studios, or at least that is what it seemed. Or I ended up with crafting rooms, which also didn’t fit who I was or what I wanted my studio to be.
Maybe it’s this casual dependence on the internet, but I thought I could find articles on how to create an art studio. Recommendations on what one absolutely should have, tips for what not to do, basically I was hoping for a template, because I had decorated my bedroom as a kid, my apartments as an adult, my homes, but this felt different – this was more than coordinated pillows and pretty drapes.
Here's where the first phase of panic sunk in, I had to blaze my own trail. There wasn’t anything on the internet which fit. I started to visualize what I wanted and here is what I could come up with:
Lots of desk/table top space
A place for my dog to hang out (priorities!)
Lots of natural light
That’s what I started with and worked from there. My husband installed a sliding glass door at one end of the shed (lots of light), I ordered a standing desk, a drafting-type table, and I had my old office desk. I ordered a weird folding chair which turned into a cot from Amazon (not the most comfortable thing, but it fits my standard poodle, Lola, AND my cat, Bunny).
Meanwhile, we had construction to get accomplished which including installing electricity, drywalling, putting in an air conditioner, painting, and flooring. The whole time I was envisioning it would look like something between a grandma’s attic and a Chinese opium den based on the fact I could “decorate” it anyway I wanted, no compromise with my husband, just money stood in my way of bringing this dream to life. I love Asian artifacts and art, I also like a shabby chic look. Looking back on it now, I realize I was defaulting to “decorating” as opposed to focusing on an efficient and creative place to be the best artist I could be.
Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t look like a Chinese opium den or grandma’s cottage.
Once the construction was complete and it was move in day, I couldn’t wait to figure out exactly where everything was going to go. Some furniture was still in boxes ready to be assembled and other furniture was coming out of the shared office. On the window side of the studio was the line up of desks. The opposite wall was storage and the weird chair. I already had multi-basketed carts on wheels filled with paints, papers, etc.
TRUNKS. I have a steamer trunk my grandfather brought with him from Sweden and another bubble-lid steamer trunk I found at a second hand store (here’s the grandma’s attic look I anticipated) that we moved in. I thought I’d store large papers, material, and books in those trunks and they would bring a little whimsy to the room. After we lifted those heavy buggers into the studio, I stood there perplexed. My husband says “you don’t like this, do you?” How is that possible? I’d been fantasizing about this very moment where the ancient Swedish trunk just makes the place pop. It looked out of place. We moved the trunk back into the house. The bubble-lid one I kept in the studio, because it did fit…but it’s someone else’s history, not mine.
Once the big furniture was in, it was time to deal with the surprising emotions that came up with occupying my very own art studio.