Outer Space

You would think that an attempt to synergize your life and work would require a merging of those (normally) separate spaces. I often imagined an amorphous, multifarious, endlessly dynamic and inspirited space where I couldn't tell where the art ended and the living space began, and vice versa. As romantic as it sounds, I've discovered that such a space is among the least functional and most oppresive of all possible spaces to work in. For me, it goes from carefree to careless to miasma in the space of a few hours.

Admittedly, the praxis of art production is as diverse as the number of artists producing; in fact, my friend Pat works well in an environment like this - his house is full of handmade, homemade instruments and costumes, and while he keeps a neat living space, the edges of a thousand projects can be seen peeking from beneath the strata of abandoned works and works in progress. Pat himself is very much like this, a conductor of energy and ideas capable of maintaining any number of projects on parallel tracks. But I'm the artist that can't make anything until the dishes are done.

So we come to the crux of the topic: the intersection of the artist and the artist's space.

Although it is absolutely crucial, space is an oft ignored aspect of a nascent artist's approach and output. I'm talking about actual physical space. How big your room is and how it is layed out. How big your studio is and what floor it's on. I'm not talking here about contextual or environmental concerns (as in, I live in New York City, or I'm still in art school). Physical space and an artist's larger environment are obviously undeniably entangled. The leverage of geography is no small thing, but for the moment, let's just talk square footage and shelving.

This is currently my studio space - a single room in my house.

A focal point of my expansion as an artist has become the expansion of my workspace. For too long I've limited the scope and size of my work because I can't accommodate the work I can envision. Even though Buffalo provides me with amazing resources that I can use outside my home, I've still always longed for a self-sufficient studio space of my own.

Luckily, I have a three car garage with a second floor that was, at one time, an apartment or servant's quarters. It has a hardwood floor, running water, electric, and needs mostly superficial cosmetic improvements. My project for the next two months will be finishing the studio - so be on the lookout for updates as the project proceeds.

This is the North end of my studio as it is now, after preliminary cleaning.

This is the South end, as it is now.

I know that this increase in space will allow me to do things I've never done before, things I've dreamt of doing for so long. It reminds me lines from the Tao Te Ching:

We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.

We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.

We work with being,
but non-being is what we use.

And I don't know about you, but I could stand to have a whole lot more non-being to work with.

For me it's about distractions - visual, psychological, and emotional clutter - but physical distractions as well, actual clutter; in my opinion, the less the better. A clean space is a fast space. Somehow this seems important, the connection between the velocity of thought and the velocity of process and the velocity of production. Interested? See Paul Virilio's Speed and Politics: An Essay on Dromology. New York: Semiotext(e), 1977 [1986]

I want to hear about other people's workspaces, see pictures, discuss the importance of space and scale, order and organization, so I'm going to be dedicating some time in the coming days to an elaboration of space: physical, emotional, and contextual.

Tell me about your space and how it affects your work and how you work.