IT’S NOT ABOUT THE STUDIO

I have studio envy. Often.
Because studios matter. Some might even say the studio maketh the artist. But really, in the end, I’m not buying it.

I reckon I’ve had more studios than most, not only because I have lived in so many different places with a variety of home studios, but more significantly, I’ve painted at dozens of different artist residencies, each with it’s own particular work space. Like it or leave it.

At the Admiral’s house, Scotland 2022. ©Amy Guion Clay

My home studios have varied wildly. Small bedrooms and garages were converted, leaving my car in the elements and my bedroom in the living room.

Other times I had spacious and light studios that allowed me to explore new mediums at the time, such as large encaustic paintings in my earlier years.

But it’s the residency studios that are the wild card in my creative practice. These are as varied as the languages spoken and are always an adventure in loving what is.

There was the old musty quail coop in the south of France; my elderly hostess in the next room puffing out cigar smoke while blasting her daily habit of French soap operas at high volume.

Quail coop studio at 4 Winds Atelier in Provence. 2009 ©Amy Guion Clay

In the Yucatan in Mexico, the large open air palapa studio was shared with 5 other artists, enclosed in a tropical compound of lush greenery and any manner of crawly things. The proximity to other artists inspired new work and created life long friendships.

My personal studio in an artist’s compound on a luxury dude ranch in Wyoming was expansive and delightful with it’s radiant heated floors, log cabin walls, and the freshly prepared food by our private chef allowed us to work full days without distractions. Our shared meals made for fast bonding with the 7 other artists, writers and musicians.

In southern Spain, my live/work space cantilevered over the rolling cork oak trees in Sierra de Aracena, a national park near the village of Aracena. I awoke to the sounds of the Iberian pigs, barking dogs and crowing roosters, a lovely reminder of the rural countryside that I miss while living in the city.

My live/work studio at Arteventura in southern Spain. ©Amy Guion Clay 2022

There have been countless other studios I have worked in - a barrel roofed sandstone room in a village of caves in central Turkey, an old farmhouse in Iceland, a rented bedroom with a small table in London where I painted for a large exhibition, and a former Soviet building in East Berlin with my room over a rowdy Biergarten.

The point I’m making is that studios are not the point. The point is the experience of making art wherever you are. Complaining about our studios is just an excuse. There will always be the feeling of not-enoughness. Not enough space/light, not enough time, not enough money/resources.

But don’t buy it. Don’t listen to the voice of resistance that says all the conditions have to be right to create - the perfect studio, the right time, all the supplies you want. Work outside, clear the kitchen table, make art in the forest, on the street, in your bedroom.

Of course, we all dream about the perfect space that will inspire and enable our masterpieces to finally be fulfilled! Mine is overlooking the sea (meanwhile I live in the Rockies, a thousand miles from the nearest ocean). Something to aspire to, but not to keep us from the daily practice that actually matters.

There is no doubt that the place/space influences the work. That’s what I love about working in so many different environments. But is the work better, worse? I say no. The best work is the art you are making right here, right now, wherever you are.

learn more about artist residencies