Emerging from the cocoon of study
I have been working as an artist for many years, but only in the last few have I taken on a permanent rented premises in which to make my work.
Post art school, or in the early stages of building a practice, this is a dilemma many artists face- where will I make the work I want to make? Do I need a studio? Am I legit if I don’t?
(Disclaimer: I’m using my art school —-> real life journey as an example here, but there are obviously many, many ways to start and maintain an art practice, and the road this takes towards needing a studio or not. Leaving art school can be quite a shock in some ways as you go from having lots of space and facilities to (often) nothing. It’s like being a very spoiled pet and suddenly you’re an alley cat. Other routes can involve this harshness from the get-go, so I appreciate the years I had before the Big Bad World encroached).
To rent or not to rent
For some people their practice necessitates the sourcing and renting of a studio by virtue of the method or the scale of the work produced. But many of us who use a laptop, or a desk, to work (though limiting oneself is also dangerous…) it can seem like an unnecessary expense to rent somewhere to make artwork.
When I was a fresh graduate I took a space with a couple of other artists in an open-plan, office style, pig-pen set up. I really didn’t use the space as often as I should have, due to waning motivation after the initial post-graduation rush, and the cramped nature of sharing with several others. I had to give up the space fairly swiftly, as an unused studio quickly becomes a financial burden, and the guilt is just as anxiety inducing (are you even an artist??? what are you doing???). I think I had yet to work out exactly what I wanted from a studio, and what kind of space I actually needed for my practice- too much too soon.
Following this, for most of the years after I graduated I worked from home, at a kitchen table, a living room floor, or wherever the work suited. Because my practice was largely photographic or paper based I was only really in need of a desk. I missed darkroom access once I left art school, and made various attempts to construct my own darkroom- one memorably in a basement where people also… hung their washing… anyway- the least said about that the better as the photos that emerged were as dire a quality as the overall experience. One star, would not repeat.
When I shifted towards more academic study and stopped making work as regularly I didn’t really worry about having a specific place to work as it would be whenever the whim to work took me, and subsequently I spent many sporadic collage years accidentally gluing hair from the bedroom carpet into whatever I was making.
Making of meaning/meaning of making
I always thought a studio (in some part of my lizard brain) was something you had when you had ‘made it’. My definition of ‘making it’ at this point would have been successfully making and selling work to the point where you are self-supporting and need a place to produce the steady stream of perfect pieces people are banging on your door to buy.
So in my mind a studio became a sort of legitimising thing. A validation of artist-ness. It was something that came along with the ability of being able to say ‘I’m an artist‘ without looking around shiftily or sweating. I used to feel kind of embarrassed when people asked me if I had a studio and I said I worked from home. Perhaps because I was reading some kind of glee in their response that I wasn’t a real artist. I think these days that’s known as projecting, but that’s not to say that you don’t encounter lots of people along your creative journey who would like to see you fail. That’s life innit. Haters gonna… delegitimise-your-shaky-sense-of-self-perpetually-unless-you-harden-yourself-and-nurture-self-belief. Anyway.
Home working before it was mandatory
I quite liked working from home in a lot of respects- it’s cheap, it’s easy to work any time, you can take breaks without judgement (inner critic aside) and have some element of privacy (where possible). But it can also be hard to delineate your time correctly between work and leisure and self-motivation is a major element (I mean arguably it’s core in any artistic practice, but it takes a lot of willpower not to just sit on the sofa).
My peak of home working probably occurred when I was working several jobs, some art, some non-art related, whilst kickstarting my practice again, between 2013-2016. I often needed to make work for shows, events, markets etc, and had to work predominantly in the evening or at weekends. I found this quite an exhausting time. It was great to drive my practice forward at pace and have actual deadlines to push towards, but man, I remember a lot of going straight from my desk to bed in a fugue state.
When I first started having a ‘studio day’ I found it really hard to structure my time. I think initially I was being far too rigid. I had this idea in my head of what my day should be, or look like, and I would either fritter away the time meeting up with someone (people would often call my studio day a ‘day off’ ha ha haaaa), or I would just panic that I wasn’t using this time wisely enough and freeze. There’s nothing more stifling for creativity sometimes than having a designated ‘art time’. Like cool, no pressure then. But often this is the reality of your schedule. Capitalism! It demands we work to survive, so we have to fit everything else in.
Motivation and its discontents
There’s also this notion of ‘everyone has the same 24 hours’ which can be particularly toxic for creatives. I remember once reading an interview with some fashion entrepreneurs in a magazine for an online brand/retailer. They were both young, high flying and successful. One of the questions related to how they managed to build their brand alongside working other ‘normal’ jobs. I think the response was along the lines of ‘be like Oprah! Get up at 5am’. I remember feeling like… so if I don’t sword-dance with burnout constantly I’m not trying hard enough? And I shouldn’t have any time to rest? Which is integral to creativity, and errr, sanity? Infuriating. Damaging. Bullshit. I’m not saying that it doesn’t take lots of hard work to make anything a success, but when did this gross side-hustle-girl-boss-entrepreneur-influencer work ethic become the only way?
The long and the short of my particular version of this saga is that in order to dedicate more time to my practice I had to let go of some paid part time work. This has happened twice in my career so far, once with a part time job and once with some freelance roles. I just couldn’t handle having four separate jobs, and trying to work on my own projects at night when I felt like I couldn’t keep my head off the desk. Demoralising and unsustainable- delightful! My moods ranged from Eeyore to Godzilla and I hated everything I made. Awful. Again, one star, would not repeat.
I reduced my paid working hours enough to cover myself, and carved out extra time for my practice during the day. I was able to breathe and take the pressure off those bounded moments for creativity in my schedule. I still overcommitted myself to events and projects (saying no, not my forte), but I didn’t have to do all my working at night. It took me ages to relearn that evenings = downtime. I still struggle with this occasionally when at home, as I still have a work room which can beckon me. What is relaxation?????????
A different kind of ‘Kekun’
During 2019 I became involved with a local art collective/studio, Kekun Studio, that had a premises in an area of the city that wasn’t far from my home. I began spending time with the resident artists, Mary Butterworth and Jon Reid, and participated in two collaborative shows (Little Shop of Horrors and Bygone) and assisted with their residency programme. In early 2020 I was offered the chance to become a permanent part of the studio and rent a space there, alongside my collaborator on Cannibal Cubs.
This was my first real experience of having a studio and it really opened up the range activities I could undertake. It was particularly useful for the Cannibal Cubs projects as we had a space we could screen print in more easily (having previously worked on a living room floor, cleaning screens in the shower).
Screen printing Cannibal Cubs products at Kekun studio, early 2020 (pre covid!).
It was also helpful to be around other artists again, an experience I had previously left behind in art school. It’s invaluable to have other people around to discuss elements of professional practice with, to shoot the shit with, complain to, rejoice with. It can make choosing a life like this less lonely and a unrelenting perma-slog (it’s fun really! Kinda). It can be hard sometimes for people with more linear career paths to grasp the precarity, unpredictability and sheer grind of working for yourself in the creative industries. It also allows you to become part of a larger network, hearing about opportunities, meeting fellow creatives, as well as learning new skills from the people around you. Professional practice and development is something a lot of artists struggle with, and I wouldn’t have gotten by without others sharing their advice and experiences with me. Beyond this, it also teaches you that there is no one ‘right’ way to be an artist, to make work, to exist in the world. I think I was very lucky to be in a studio situation where all the other residents were people I could count as friends.
2020 naturally presented some challenges with regards to being allowed to use the studio, but when restrictions slowly changed around working away from home, I was able to utilise the space again, and this was a welcome respite from always being in the same place. It provided a much needed element of work/life balance, as well as contact with people outside my ‘household/bubble’ (anyone else feel triggered by these words? If I never hear the word ‘household’ again I’ll be delighted). The studio became a lifeline for us during a strange, unsettling time, and prevented my practice from going into homeworking stasis.
The space provided by the studio allowed me to expand the scale of works I was producing, and in my last months in Kekun I was experimenting at a scale I had not previously tackled before- with painting, drawing and even constructing a textile based installation. Kekun, its occupants, and its facilities, were instrumental in broadening my thinking around my practice, as well as diversifying the methods and materials I was willing to challenge myself with.
New beginnings
Unfortunately in the summer of 2022 we all had to vacate the space due to a rather strange situation with a neighbouring business. This was a big wrench, but the studio had become a difficult place to work, and the once welcoming, relaxed atmosphere had been damaged irreparably. We were all very lucky to find spaces in another large city-centre complex- The Anatomy Rooms, run by All In Ideas and home to Arkade Gallery and City Moves Dance Agency.
I moved into my new room there in early September 2022, and although the move was protracted and gruelling (oh the lugging), we are all ultimately happier in our new spaces here. I have my own self contained room, just along from where my old studio mates Jon and Mary also have their own spaces.
The Anatomy Rooms is a building that’s steeped in history (having been, as the name suggests, the anatomy building for Aberdeen University) with a lot of unusual features (disused morgue anyone?). It has been an artist studio complex for many years now, equipped with an exhibition space (Arkade Gallery), areas for teaching, and larger scale events. Being part of a studio like this means I am already embedded in an artistic community. It makes it easier for me to hear about, and be involved in, projects and events. Not that being part of a studio or an organisation should be a prerequisite for this, but I can sometimes be lax in keeping informed about what’s going on, or what opportunities might be open to me. My head is invariably in ‘making mode’ not ‘promote self and be successful’ mode *chefs kiss*. I also resent the tyranny of Meta apps to keep up to date with… anything.
I think it also depends on what phase of working I am in. Sometimes I am deep into a research/making phase, and I don’t want lots of outside stimulation, or I don’t have the bandwidth for anything participatory. But at other points in my ‘making cycle’ I am more open to involving myself. I recognise this about myself more as I develop as an artist- when I am most likely to make the best of a situation, or apply myself to the required standard. Sometimes, particularly after the completion of a big exhibition project, or body of work (even if it’s unseen…) I can feel really drained. I didn’t understand that post-project slumps are a thing, until I talked to other creatives and found there was a common theme of collapse after doing something big, or something that requires ‘giving your all’. It can be similar to burnout, but manifests in different people in different ways. For me I can feel like I want to lie in a dark room with absolutely no stimulation for maybe… four years? I jest. Maybe.
Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed, or at least managed to follow, my foray into my relationship with renting studios.
Last point- would I say having a studio is a good thing for an artist? I think it’s a good thing if it works for you. If it suits your practice, your temperament, your budget. I’m ultimately glad I gave it a go as for me it was beneficial to the development of my practice on a few levels. But I always know that if I had to go back to a spare room, a table, a floor, I would make it work. Adapt or die eh.
Thanks for reading.
J 🙂
DRAFT EXCLUDER 