I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about personal workspaces. In these times of pandemic, as many thousands of workers do their thing remotely, it’s been interesting to read about and see images of how creatively people are merging their living and office spaces. And then there’s the question of what personal touches make it into the space - how much separation between home and work life do you create at home where there’s no daily “audience” of co-workers and clients to consider? In the company cubicle, where others skulk about, there’s an accepted (and often expected) code as to any glimpses into personal life - family photos, college mug/pen holder, children’s drawings, etc. Now, at home, all bets are off (except within the frame of the Zoom call) and the criteria takes on a different meaning. First of all, where is the appropriate location? I’ve seen home offices cobbled out of pantries, dens, former toy rooms and even attics. In temperate regions, backyard tool sheds have turned into the ultimate commute. And then there’s the ephemeral. With no other stakeholder to consider, what personal objects help you do your work? What distracts you? All new questions for a new world - a world in which the remote worker has complete control.
Which leads me to consider the my “remote” workspace. I say remote because though it is true that is attached to my house, it is purposely separated and can only be entered from out of doors. That’s why I call my space Intramural Studio, literally meaning “within the walls.” It stands alone, yet it is remote by design to create a gap between two worlds.
Within these walls, my studio takes on many roles. It is first and foremost a place of work, but also a meditation room, a library, a laboratory and sometimes a prison cell. It can feel like a messy kitchen, a pop-up darkroom, a theater of the absurd, a smoky bar or a smelly locker room. But, above all, it is a personal sanctuary - a place I can go to engage in whatever is needed to do my work. Sometimes it is full of energy and focus, requiring nothing but good light, tools at the ready, a proper soundtrack and a ready panel on the easel. Other times it is calm and contemplative, the light lower (provided by my groovy Calef Brown lamp), my hanging Air Chair, and my collection of inspirational findings about me on the walls and shelves. Stuff like a flask of actual whale oil, a voodoo doll, a Richard Diebenkorn catalogue, wood carvings, noir paperbacks and a metal rooster weathervane. And then there are the nights that it becomes a dungeon, and though you’d rather be upstairs watching a hockey game, you just cannot tear yourself away from the problem at hand…that missing color or awkward composition. But, you’re in a safe place. A place that is of your own design and furnishing. A sacred space that will provide whatever you need with no judgement.
