Ha! Ha! Ha! I almost got you with that one, no?
Well here's something:
Comments on working in a communal studio:
This is a picture of the chair in my studio space. Yes, that's a chain. Yes, that's a lock.
Turns out that it's pretty aggravating to have to hunt down a chair to use. Well, okay: Actually, that's not what I was getting aggravated about. I don't care about having to hunt down a chair. What I was getting aggravated about was the fact that people were going into my studio space to find a chair. I'm a huge, huge stickler for privacy and it makes me insane--like, stark, raving, raging insane--when people invade my personal space. So on the night I came into the studio to find that I had no chair, I turned around, walked out, went and bought a chair and a chain and a lock. Problem. Solved. I figure that whoever was taking my chair before has one good lesson coming to them before that behavior stops.
So that's one drawback of working in a communal space, the "borrowing" that happens.
Now I'll admit, I'm not much of a sharer by nature. Corollary: I almost never borrow anything and I really, really hate to be asked to lend something. I hate it so much that I have taught myself to see lending as giving so that whenever I lend something to someone, I assume that I've given it away and I'm never, ever going to get it back. That keeps me from going crazy when something I've lent is returned a million years later or never, or is returned in bad shape. Strangely enough, I don't mind giving things away. I just hate lending things away, you know?
So, yes, the disappearing chair, enraging.
Other things that have disappeared or been ruined during my time at the studio: I've also had actual work at the bisque stage disappear. (And not nice work either, kind of junky work actually, which surprised me.) And paint brushes walk away with regularity because they're hard to identify and harder still to personalize. Not so much a disappearance, but I've had work get ruined by people touching it. (A difficult to apply glaze was rubbed off a piece by someone curious about the texture. Yes, there were fingerprints in the glaze. No, I didn't take the matter to the police.) Tools disappear, and writing instruments. It's frustrating.
Some artists take loses like that in stride, but me? No.
Yes, okay, there are certain losses that I take in stride. For example, the price I pay for not having to load or unload kilns is the breakage of some pieces. (Really important pieces I load myself, or I save work to fire a whole kiln of my own stuff.) I expect something to disappear if I leave it out in the communal areas, where communal things are kept. To those things, I say: Whatever. It's the outright theft that makes me nuts. (And it's not like people are stealing because they don't have the cash to buy their own. This is, for the most part, a middle-class group of people with the disposable income to afford to pay a not-insignificant monthly fee to make their ugly bowls and ugly plates. No, for the most part they're stealing as a matter of convenience and entitlement. I want something right now, their thinking goes, and that person has that thing, so now it's mine. Gone. Grrr.)
The other thing I dislike about the communal studio is the fact that people think that their opinions and suggestions about my work are things I respect or should respect. This hasn't happened so much this time around, but it used to happen often. To be fair, when I was a beginner I was all for it. I really wanted feedback on my stuff because almost everyone knew more than I did and I could actually glean some helpful advice about various things. Now, ten years along the curve, I know enough that I don't get much out of most people's feedback. That sounds awful and snobbish, I know, but I don't care. I've spent years trying to tune into my own voice and to have my work reflect that effort. Yes, people are usually well meaning. (I'm not so much a snob that I don't recognize that), but the fact is that I still have to protect the small flame of what burns inside me from well-intentioned windbags.
Those are the bad things. Here are the good things:
By being part of the studio, I have access to a wide range of equipment that I wouldn't have otherwise. I have a choice of slab rollers instead of just my rolling pin. I have access to perhaps five kilns and about four different means of firing work. I have access to materials like high-fire glazes and underglazes. I have access to a work space that means that I don't have to mess up my living space. So those are good things. Some people count the social aspect of working at the studio, and I do too, to a certain extent. It becomes tedious sometimes, but it can provide a welcome distraction other times.
So that's it. Today's screed about the studio.
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