New space, old struggles

On November 2, I moved into a new studio. It took some time to outfit my space so that I could begin to work. I trolled craigslist and garage sales to buy a chair and two tables. I bought a new rug, two lamps for extra light, a new drill to build my canvases; I sought wine crates to use as props and bookcases. I engineered a low-tech way to display photos.

Then I began to work. It’s hard. 

For the past few weeks, I have been staring down a 48" x 84" canvas. I get distracted by new noises, neighboring artists. I don’t have bright, natural sunlight. Fresh air does not circulate well. I have a few paintings hanging, but am not surrounded by past work, for reference and inspiration. More importantly, I haven’t yet instilled creative energy into my space—those new four walls—which comes with time.

I’m getting used to a new routine, being away from home for most days, balancing working time with personal time, negotiating priorities with my beau and family.

I keep coming back to what working as an artist means.

My studio is in the Mission, so I’m back to where I spent seven life-changing, bittersweet years. I frequent a café where Adam used to drop me off on his way to Palo Alto, where he would treat me to coffee and a giant cinnamon roll for breakfast. When I go there now for my mid-afternoon break, often a few cinnamon rolls—still from the same bakery—remain in the pastry case. With these familiar touchstones, I feel at home here. But there are also enough changes that things feel new and scary.

I feel overwhelmed by these changes, all the feelings that have been stirred up. I wish I could talk to my artist friends about authenticity, working through the struggles. I’m not talking about those people who easily self-identify as capital-A Artists, but those who question it every day, even as they work.

I recognize that these vulnerabilities can also be strengths in my work. I make human marks; I make errors. Hopefully, I also make things that are real and raw.