Papa November

I remember in college a proffesor asked us all why we wanted to become artists and among the usual answers of “it’s my passion” and “it’s the only thing I’m good at” a girl dared to say “because I have always pictured myself painting in a cute art studio with a view of a meadow.” I remember rolling my eyes and thinking that she should be kicked out of the program or at least out of the room. I mean, that is like becoming a proffesor for the office and the books.

My studios have always been what you might call crappy. My first studio was in college and was a portion of a large room in what was once a rundown home. It was so beyond run down at the point that I was using it that my industrial hygenist brother in law suggested removing anything from the building that I didn’t want to have destroyed in a paint thinner and trash fueled blaze.

My second studio was in a very nice building but was so small that a friend was convinced that they had rented me the bathroom. I had to put my paintings on the far wall and step outside to get a good look at them. I left when I noticed an escort service operating down the hall.

My third studio was in a building on the verge of collapse right behind the Denver capital dome. It turns out that it really was once the bathroom. Michelle refused to visit me there after having to cross a police line to get to the door one time. It did have a skylight and a great view of downtown though.

My present studio is in my house and I’m not painting much at all. I’ve found the studio has very little to do with the end product. It might make it more pleasant to paint in a really cool place with great views but I would be just as likely to sit there and read a book or admire the view. This is the biggest, most convenient studio I’ve had and the most I’ve done is walk in, look around and think about painting before leaving. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe if I hired some crackheads to smoke outside the window and blasted a police siren from the stereo I would be painting like crazy again. Or maybe if I had this place http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/pacificnw/2005/0522/cover_nseattle.html I would never care if I painted again. It has a firepole! Maybe she had a valid reason for wanting to become an artist, I would dream of becoming a taxidermist if I could have “the Brain” as a workplace.