When we finally finished cleaning out our old studio in the Usine Cadbury at the end of October, we sat down for a little while in the open space and remembered the day we moved into it -- the only other time it has been empty. That was fourteen years ago. As soon as our moving truck arrived from Vermont, the space filled up quickly with professional camera and graphics equipment, computers, tools, paper cutters and framing tools, file cabinets and storage cabinets, art supplies, a book press and bookbinding equipment, bookshelves and all the books we couldn't fit into our small apartment, my piano, a refrigerator and kitchen equipment, a couch, chairs, a coffee table, plants. In many ways it was our second home for the past decade and a half; we went there almost every day soon after rising, made our breakfast and lunch, and spent most of our daylight hours working there, only going home -- usually on foot or by bicycle -- at 5:00 or 6:00 pm. The pandemic interrupted that routine, but by 2019 we were also retiring from our design and communications work, although I was continuing to publish books. The building changed hands, and the rent rose every year: it was clear our time there was coming to an end.
We had worked hard on selling and clearing things out last summer, but realized we simply couldn't finish by the time our lease would be up in the fall, so we signed one more lease, determined to be out this year. By the time we had finished this fall, we were too exhausted and sick of the process to feel very nostalgic. We took some pictures, including this final portrait of me by Jonathan to mark the occasion. Then we locked the door for the last time, and returned our keys.
---
My new studio is very small, but efficient, and the north light in it is beautiful. I was really worried about fitting myself into it, and got rid of everything I could in order to make it work; that meant some steely decisions about equipment and studio furniture I've had all my working life, as well as weeding out a great many books, supplies I either didn't need or could easily replace, and even a good deal of artwork and project samples. I photographed things, and let the objects go. It wasn't easy, especially at first: I felt like I was giving up my identity and admitting to being much older than I feel. But as we found homes for our things with younger people who would use them, we both felt better.
The new space holds my writing desk (you can see it reflected in the mirror of the storage cabinet) as well as an L-shaped worktable. The left side of the table has a motor that raises or lowers the tabletop for standing or sitting. All the art, sewing, and textile supplies fit into two IKEA Pax cabinets, and my paper and archive of artwork are stored elsewhere in the apartment; there are boxes of cloth and yarn, archives of professional work, and some canvases and frames in our remote storage unit.
Thingvellir, Iceland. Charcoal on prepared Rising Line Stonehenge paper.
It seemed important to me to put some work up on the walls right away, so I did, and after doing a number of cloud and cityscape studies from the window, I decided to try to make something large just to prove to myself that I could still do that in this space. I want to complete the Iceland series of charcoal drawings that I began at the end of 2011; this large diptych, which was just roughed-out when I stopped working on the series, is 60" x 22". I worked on the two halves separately on the tabletop, and then together on the wall. Later, Jonathan made this portrait, again to mark the occasion of what we hope is a new beginning, and a new chapter in our lives.