I took up writing so that I would paint more.  I figure that if I write about my process, it might give me some external accountability.  Even though, at this middle stage of my life, I have an intense urge to paint, I still need someone waiting for it on the other side.  Otherwise, it’s like that tree falling in the forest all by itself. 

When I was in art school, people looked at and talked about each others’ work all the time.  I also had the experience of living in a community of artists.  At some point, I got ambitious in other directions that pulled me further away from environments which validated the importance of making art.  I don’t regret these paths, but I’m feeling drawn back to a place, this familiar place, where I started and realize that I have much unfinished business.

I know I’m not the only one.  I have artist friends that I keep in touch with.  Our conversations are laced with apologies for not being in better contact and we lament the distractions of life that keep us from our studios.  I truly wonder what percentage of art school graduates still paint or sculpt, or whatever, five years or more outside of graduation.  Without support from like-minded people, the drive and the will to make art can simply wither away.

In addition to the general challenges of daily life (like, say, making a living), a tremendous obstacle to making art on a consistent basis is just having a space to do it in.  From college on, I chose my living spaces around the availability of studio space.  In Baltimore, I had a loft with twenty foot ceilings.  In the suburbs, I converted a second bedroom into a studio.  That bedroom transitioned to a nursery.  During that period of my life, in addition to being a new mom, I invested whatever energy I had left into building a business.  Somehow, I am surprised to look back now and realize that for about seven or eight years, I did not have a studio.  It was always something that I was going to get back around to. 

That thought haunts me now.  When was I finally going to “get around to it”?  I can’t say that I regret the choices I made over the past ten years or so.  The success of my business allowed me to buy the house I am in now.  The work I have been so immersed in feeds me subject matter for my paintings.  I eventually came to the realization that if I don’t commit to spending time in the studio, I never am going to get around to it. 

My brick bay front Victorian row house has a small third bedroom that became the repository for art supplies, easels, and portfolios stuffed with twenty years worth of drawings.  Somehow, amidst the chaos of a room too small for its contents, I managed to create enough order to get into a bit of a routine in the studio.  Like starting a new exercise program, I clumsily struggled through the re-entry phase.  At first, it was very much about seeing if I could even still draw.  I drew corners of my studio.  I drew shells and bones.  I drew cups.  I drew shoes.  I drew myself.  Just like getting back to the gym, there came a point where I began to feel less rusty and more confident about exploring different directions.

In the Spring/Summer of 2009, I participated in a very popular, ridiculously large un-juried group show.  Each artist who pays the entry fee and applies by the deadline gets an eight by eight foot wall space.  I painted my wall flat black and hung three fourteen by eighteen inch watercolors.  Feedback from the show was fantastic.  I sold two of the three, and also received commission inquiries. 

The scale of my crowded tiny studio was affecting the scale of the work I was making.  In order to progress, I needed space to spread out.  Over a year ago, I claimed the north facing master bedroom as my studio.  It just seemed so much more important to have room to make art than to use that space for a bedroom.  I figure that some people devote entire rooms to their televisions.

In the documentary about his life, art collector Alan Stone described visiting artists’ studios as entering spiritual space.  My studio is indeed a haven; a place for reflection and immersion.  Not everybody needs a studio to be creative, but I’ve come to believe that it is important to my commitment to being an artist.

I suspect that a lot of people have something they think they're going to figure out how to get back around to someday.   What's yours?