Storage

During our retreat weekend we enjoyed remote tours of each others studio spaces. While there are few things more glorious than exploring an artist’s native habitat in person, these remote explorations were still very satisfying.

I work in a range of materials and therefore in a few different spaces. Sawdust and welding create a fire hazard. Silver and steel don’t share nicely. A lot of steps are clocked up in moving between one space and the other. It eats up time (and things get lost). It would support my practice greatly if I was able to invest a bit of time and money in making everything more connected. My degree is in Materials Practice, so this way of working across materials and spaces is embedded in how I came to be an artist in the first place.

For me, the fact of the upcoming tour prompted a vigorous and long-overdue clearing of clutter. As I unearthed buried floorspace the studio swing was finally brought back into use. The clearing also reminded me of the importance of being witnessed in your practice. There’s great value in the incidental observations and questions that arise when someone visits. That was lost in the virtual tours as we could pre-select where to direct the camera, curating the view.

The theme of what to do with all our STUFF came up over and over throughout the day. It occurs to me that this farmyard, these buildings, are my studio in their entirety. I moved here in order to have space to move and make and think. There is no point where I end and my studio/practice starts. When I first graduated, I made small silver pieces on my dining table. Borrowed an hour of workshop time here and there to prepare wood. It was a deeply unsatisfactory way to work and moving here was a way to have everything available all in the one place.

So although I’m not a natural collaborator, I’m reminded of the power of connection and interaction with others.