I've been dreaming about having a proper studio for a long time, so when my husband and I were looking at properties a few years back, one of the requirements I had for a place to live was that there also had to be adequate work space for me.
We bought the Funny Farm in part for its beautiful garage- yes, I know most people are hooked on kitchens and bathrooms. The kitchen and bathrooms in this house were great, too. But it was that 15 by 30 foot garage with a north facing wall, already wired AND with running water that really sold me on the place. No more tiny spare bedrooms or poorly lit basement studios for me! All the garage needed was insulation, some new windows, finished walls and a floor, and it would be a perfect studio. I could so easily imagine myself working away in my own little haven, teaching classes comfortably. I would finally be able to use my big French easel, get a drafting table! I would be so productive! Oh the possibilities! It's a good thing I have an imagination, because imagining my perfect studio was pretty much as far as it got. For three years the studio remained unfinished.
Since moving here, I have been working in a small upstairs bedroom, where the glare is so terrible I have to contort myself to see what is on my easel. When I started making collages, I found I needed even more room to spread out, so I shifted some of my work space to the ground floor, into the room where I teach music, a space where I also wound up teaching art classes. Once in a while, my art has taken over the kitchen when I needed extra room to paint, or to build a box to ship artwork, or to pack something. Even the living room wasn't immune, as I sometimes went in there to work on drawings. Forget the problems of urban sprawl. In our house the problem was definitely one of art sprawl: easels everywhere, paintings and collages stacked up against the walls, empty frames, boxes of art supplies, packing materials and two separate studio spaces, both woefully inadequate. Fortunately this house hasn't got much of a basement, or I surely would have found myself down there as well.
Lucky for me, my wait for a studio is now almost over. My kindhearted husband, who is a carpenter and a masterful maker of fine furniture, was able to find the time to get the studio almost finished- finished enough to make it a usable space, and for the past three weeks I have been able to work in it and teach in it.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
When I spent most of my creative energy producing equine paintings, not only did I accept commissions, I eagerly sought them out. I traveled to horse farms, training facilities, and race tracks. I met all kinds of people- some real characters,too- and got a first hand look at the "back side" of horse racing in all its weird, distasteful, beautiful, hard working, corrupt, and somewhat faded, glory - something most people never get to see.
Then there is the Human Factor: you have to handle other people's egos, their unrealistic expectations, their sentimental attachments, and in the case of the very rich and very busy (mostly) businessmen/racehorse owners, you also have to also have to work around their crazy schedules.
I don't mean to suggest that doing commissioned work was a completely negative experience, on the contrary! It taught me the two most important rules for an artist: 1) Always Have a Written Contract, and 2) Always Get a Nonrefundable Kill Fee of 30 % Upfront. It also taught me how to say no to jobs I knew just wouldn't work out, how to humour difficult people, and how to distance myself from my work so that I didn't take criticism personally. And if I hadn't danced to the tunes of others, I would have been deprived of such learning experiences as:
- Being commissioned to produce a double portrait of a teenage girl and her horse only to have the 'girl' part of the portrait proclaimed unacceptable by the unpleasant mother because the LIKENESS WAS TOO GOOD! The girl had a rather prominent nose, which I had faithfully reproduced. The horse part of the portrait was deemed adequate and they eventually settled on the horse alone.
-Receiving photos in the mail of an aged brood mare and being asked to paint a portrait of the horse, but would I please: straighten the animal's back, lift the sagging belly, remove a scar on the neck, flesh out the neck a little more, make the eyes more youthful, fill out the mane, and not include all the ear hair. I should have asked them if they would perhaps have preferred that I paint a different horse entirely.
-Being handed a handful of blurry, underexposed, distorted snapshots of a standardbred in a stall, and being asked to immortalize an animal I could barely see.
-Having to do a photo shoot of a racehorse outdoors in a snowstorm because the trainer was only available that one day. The owners wanted a summer scene.
-Delivering a completed racing portrait to an owner only to have him look at it and say, "But that's the wrong horse." Whereupon ensued a rather heated cell phone conversation between the owner and the trainer in which the owner said, "Bay? What the hell is bay?!"
-Being paid by an owner in cash,in thousand dollar bills, from a desk drawer stuffed with money, the provenance of which I dared not ponder. Fortunately he didn't want change, either.
-Being sent to the wrong address and ending up at a sort of abandoned looking horse farm, only to find myself alone and surrounded by Rottweilers.
-Arriving at a training facility to photograph a stallion worth a couple of million dollars, and being told by the trainer that they were too busy to deal with me, at which point he handed me a towel and a bucket full of brushes and said, "Go put him in cross ties and groom him yourself." So I did.