A couple of weeks ago I spent a full, entire week only going to my studio to work on my own work. I realised that this was the first time in my entire career that I had done this. I am 37. It is both a strange and not strange thing for a ‘professional’ artist like myself to say. Why have I never been able to do this before?
I think the TLDR here is everyone’s least favourite boogeyman: capitalism! I have to pay bills, and earn income to able to live and have the life that I want. At this point people might feel inclined to jump in and ask me why I’m not making enough money from my art practice to support myself… well, I don’t make enough of a stream of saleable work, and I am not of a level where I have gallery representation or enough of a profile to do so. Some years ago I went down the ‘productifying’ route for my work, and yeah, it was good for a time, but ultimately I made work I resented and didn’t feel like I was challenging myself beyond a need to churn things out because I was worried I would have a bare looking stall at events, or too many empty slots on my online shop. Some people find their niche of making their work saleable, well made, and authentic to them, but I didn’t. It’s a mode of supporting yourself, but I didn’t manage, or have the drive (?) to keep that going- so boo hoo back to the drawing board.
Like many artists I also teach but I don’t make regular enough hours for that to my the sole source of income for me, so inevitably I have a patchwork of freelance and zero hours contracts to keep things together (when it works). Like many, I also had a PT job during my time at art school, so didn’t even dedicate all my energies to my study back then. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had applied myself fully? I also find it funny that that is where my mind immediately goes- it must be some failing on my part- lack of motivation, dedication, talent, skill, when there are bigger, overarching influences that are out of my control. But equally between the ages of 18 and 22 you have a competing range of priorities that shape-shift continuously. We are preoccupied with establishing a new identity, socialising, building relationships… enjoying youth, as we should.
In amongst all this are things that are of my making and not. I chose to undertake an academic masters degree after graduating from art school, at a time when I was getting more opportunities as an artist. So I effectively pulled the plug on my own trajectory to do something I wanted to do, and felt would ultimately enhance my practice. But looking back I see that I ‘dropped the ball’ there, fell off the map and just well… fell off. With age I think, I’m glad I did that then because I couldn’t afford to do that now, and I had some great experiences and made friendships I wouldn’t trade for anything. But when I am reviewing my progress, or lack there of, I sometimes am tempted to file this under ‘master (lol) of my own destruction’.
I stopped making art properly between 2011 and 2013, and didn’t come back to producing work I felt was ‘me’ until 2016. I have written a lot about my use of collage as a way of finding my feet again, and I value that time, but I knew I couldn’t make that kind of work forever. I was always fighting in my own head with myself about going back to photographic work. It was scary because it was hard and I had nowhere to hide.
It’s a long and meandering road, being an artist, or just a human generally, and I look back and see a varied and strange path to where I am now. I couldn’t help but wonder if my art practice would have met even my own expectations if I had had more time to dedicate to it, or even more energy. For a while I tried to come to the studio in the morning and be *productive* before doing manual work in the afternoon and boy, did that not just really add to the sense of- wow this is not workinggggg.
I recognise more than ever that I need fairly specific conditions for my brain and body in order to be able to make the most of my time in the studio:
Not feeling rushed (rushing there- bad, having to rush away- also bad)
No overhanging obligation (a meeting, a deadline, anything I need to consciously remember)
Nervous system feeling REGULATED.
I am pretty sure any artist reading this will be like, gurl that is not happening ever, and don’t I know it. We are always making do, cramming in, contorting our brains and bodies around obligations and demands and everything else, and if you manage to squeeze out a small piece of work, or focus your mind for a short time- that is golden. I need to check myself as well remembering that there are many, many frustrated artists who are denied any opportunity to work, because of life circumstances beyond their control. I have a studio I can come to. I have materials. I have goals in mind. This is very much a me problem but many artists will face it to different degrees- how do you survive? How do you keep making work? Does it matter? Should you keep going?
I sometimes think about what would happen if I just gave it all up, like I have tried, that’s enough now. I guess it depends what I was expecting my life to look like. I have painted (sorry) myself into a corner with my skillset and experience and can’t really imagine what kind of ‘regular’ job would suit me, which is why I frequently undertake manual work. On the face of it I have made myself fantastically unemployable to the general labour market. I could start thinking about ‘transferable skills’ but I want to make it through the day… or maybe rEtRaIn In CyBeR.
When I have thought about writing about this previously I just feel like, it’s whiny etc, no one cares about your self made problem. But I also think it points to bigger problems that we all face, that of the role of work and ceaseless productivity drive inherent in much of modern Western life, the cost of living, and how we find and make meaning in our lives. I chose to live like this and I bear the consequences of my choices, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.
I think the real root of the problem is my own level of expectation for myself and my practice, the vision I hold somewhere in my head, which gets vaguer over time, of what ‘success’ would look like for me. I often need to zoom out. Sometimes what keeps me going is the idea that art, and art making, have value, and enhance our lives and experience of the world. That maybe my art speaks to someone and they feel seen and understood, intrigued or provoked, in the way that artworks have infiltrated my own consciousness.
Ultimately I feel like there is something about giving up that feels larger than just a shift in occupation for me. I am not planning on doing so in the immediate future but I am unsure when I will next have the opportunity to spend an entire week in my studio.
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
Francis Bacon’s studio. sorry.
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).
Very early working from home set up. Wow so neat.
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.
My desk when prepping for a selling event, circa 2015/2016. Did I mention how much I hate making greetings cards?
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.
oh no not this.
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.
Kekun studio, 2019
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.
An installation set up for a project I was working on in Kekun studio (2021)
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.
Whoops so my whole ‘this week’ post idea went out of the window in the uh… second week. Anyway! Let’s have a recap.
A shelfie from my home.
As a quick recommendation, here’s two books that I have read recently on the subject of freedom- previously visited favourite authors of mine, ‘Everybody‘ by Olivia Laing and ‘On Freedom‘ by Maggie Nelson (I’ve linked the paperback versions- I preordered hardbacks when they came out as I am a keen bean hah). I was moved by these books (I needed to take notes), which tackle ‘same but different’ explorations of what freedom means- in terms of bodily autonomy, art, sexuality, and much more. They are both books that I intend to re-read, and sent me off on tangents of research and other reading- my favourite outcome. Highly recommend both of these- it’s important to understand what freedom actually means- we live in uncertain times!
These books are pictured on a newly built bookcase purchased to house my ever expanding book collection. After moving house sooo often I stopped buying physical books for a long time, to save space (and my spine), but I came back to the hobby of book buying HARD during 2020. I actually really enjoy giving my eyes a break from screens and reading a physical book. I compliment my paper collection with audio books, as I do still have to be careful with buying too many books- we live in low budget times!
Making
This week, as well as my ‘Garbage Portents‘ zine featured in the last post, I also completed a suite of items for my Cannibal Cubs side project.
The Mousieverse- version 1!
Mousieverse zine and stickers.
The ‘collection’ if you can call it that, features a zine, two stickers, and some screen printed tote bags (printed by yours truly). I have some experience of screen printing through my work with Cannibal Cubs, but this was one of the first designs where I took the reigns more with printing the whole offset design myself. It was really fun, creating this weird 3D effect. Due to the handmade nature of the process, each bag is unique!
Mousieverse hand printed tote bags
I’ll maybe dive a bit deeper into the Mousieverse at a later date, but the potted version is this: I started creating drawings, paintings and mixed media works featuring mice (we’ll get into ‘why mice’ in a separate investigation!), and slowly accumulated such a wealth of material I wanted to collate it all into a zine. I felt like some of the larger pieces I made were creating their own realm- hence the imaginative title of the Mousieverse. The works represented a further loosening of my approach to making. I started making quick drawings with ink and brushes, slowly getting larger and larger in scale, and then cut up lots of them, remaking them into collages, filled with colours and layers.
Drawings, paintings and collages collected in the zine.
The totes are a nice compliment- I make and sell a small amount of ‘merch’ through Cannibal Cubs– lower priced items can help to support the continuation of projects that are not revenue generating or driven, a strategy employed by many artists (I will revisit this in a more in depth post about artists and merch). I think I originally wanted this for my ‘Corvid Eyes‘ line of work, and then it ended up being the main event for a while… I’ve been trying to step away from this recently however, my continued fight to just be ‘an artist’ rather than a ‘collage artist’ (not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not what I personally want right now).
The zines, like ‘Garbage Portents‘ are printed and bound by myself. I had to use a long reach stapler for these guys as my sewing machine packed in! I need to take it to the repair shop. I’ve been using a 1960’s Singer machine I inherited from my grandmother and it probably needs a bit of TLC!
The type of sewing machine I have- hopefully up and running again soon.
Similar to my last zine, this one also contains some text. They aren’t quite full poems, but excerpts from my notebooks while making the works. I am hoping to expand on the inclusion of text, and maybe one day I will produce a purely text based zine. Maybe.
Reading/Books
I completed my listening of The Bradshaw Variations by Rachel Cusk. Not the ending I was hoping for (no spoilers)! But it made sense. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’ve just started A Cigarette Lit Backwards by Tea Hacic-Vlahovic, read by the author, and I’m really enjoying the immersive experience of the audiobook so far. Sometimes I walk around listening to audiobooks but I can get very absorbed, to the detriment of my safety on roads and pavements. Despite the danger of audiobook fog, I once had a very long walk back from a car garage early in the morning accompanied by Olivia Laing’s ‘To the River‘. I remember the walk quite vividly, the colours of the morning sky, the route I took home, my detour through the park, all the while accompanied by the book. It felt like I was reclaiming a bit of my own time while making a relatively mundane journey. Most of the time I listen to music when I’m storming around, but it’s good to mix things up. Some walks require certain soundtracks, and there’s something soothing about an early morning + non-fiction. I try not to think about journeys on foot to and from places as some sort of dead time to march through to get to the next thing. Frenzy mode. I like to try and look for things- particular sights that hold my attention and end up feeding back into something at a later date- a huge part of my ‘Omens‘ project was this incidental imagery thing. In the same way that dreams work, taking moments from your day, and mixing it with memories and the influence of the subconscious.
This can sound a bit romantic, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not jazzed looking at litter or mounds of dog shit, but it can add a bit of meaning to days when I feel like my time is not my own. Which is often.
For instance I really enjoy the pattern of light on this slab one day in August:
I love hunting for light and shadow- a lot of 35mm film I use relies on super high contrast, and I am high key obsessed with nice light and shadows.
So that’s a short summary of my output and input for this week- the mice emerged and I didn’t get run over listening to any books. Good job!
Thanks for reading- I will endeavour to update with a proper post for this week.
DRAFT EXCLUDER 