It seems that the creative potential in each one of us is ignited when the combination of ideas and restless energy reaches critical mass and we spontaneously ignite into expression. At flash point we head for our studio’s, overflowing with the desire to commit it all to canvas before the image fades and the colours disperse in our minds eye.
Today is such a day and a simple walk into a local shopping precinct to enjoy a casual cup of coffee while watching the colours and the movements in the public open spaces was all I needed to combust. It also helps that the temperature today is comfortable enough to leave the studio door open, inviting the garden light and the summer colours and energy to join me.
I have been preparing for a number of pieces which I have wanted to paint for a while. Perhaps it is this amazing English light and the crisp clear colour I am experiencing which has sparked the tinder today.
Painting is a solitary experience for me. Not that I would choose it any other way and nor do I find the solitude a lonely experience. It is in such a place that I begin to find companionship in inanimate objects. I have never discussed this with other artists but wonder how many other creative souls experience the same state of mind when engaging with their brushes, paints and canvas. Like many studios, mine is filled with all the materials, tools and substances you would expect in an artists intellectual pantry; it has its own unique character, smell and sprit.
My studio, while being is a very personal place is not a private one and enjoys company and hosting friends. The space is like me, turned inside out with my ideas, passions, memories and thought on view for all to see. The items and objects which make up the sum total of everything that occupy the space represents and showcases much of who and what I have become. There’s my favourite set of brushes, standing in a Talisker Single Malt whiskey box, a memento from a memorable visit with an old friend. There’s photo’s of friends, family and images which have always been special to me. Stuck in the corner of a frame are the long white teeth of two thorns from a Mimosa Tree from where Thornwood Studio derives its name. I grew up with these trees on our farm in South Africa; their aromatic wood is one of the primary sources of heat for cooking the finest mutton chops in the Eastern Cape as well as heating our large old homesteads in the winter. Fixed to the studio’s low ceiling hangs a large shofar made from a Kudu horn; I sound this horn from time to time and love its deep resonating moan. Books, materials and music CD’s punctuate tops of shelves and ends of tables, each item having its own familiar place, like some local resident who is always to be found at their favourite table at a street café.
As I unlock the door each day it’s like walking into a room full of friends and acquaintances. I have bright happy friends like the old music centre which is a constant entertainer and source gossip; there’s the family of coloured antique bottles on the window ledge and the small glass crystals which dance their rainbow light around the walls when the sun shifts and animates the space. I have a few really grumpy friends too, such as the bad tempered electric pencil sharpener who, from time to time, will suddenly grab a delicate pencil and in a hot temper will trash the wood and the graphite. I keep the old boy simply because on better days, when his mood is not so sour, he sharpens like a real pro. I also have an old hairdresser’s swivel stool which has a stubborn temperament and refuses to ever adjust to the height I need. One of my hardest working studio comrades is my faithful dehumidifier, a trusty mate who keeps our studio home free of dampness during the long cold, wet winter months. He never ceases to produce the clearest distilled water which I bottle and store to use with my watercolours.
The rag-tag bits and piece of furniture which house the whole studio community are a motley bunch of tramps and vagabonds. Characters who I have personally saved from the death rows of countless scrap yards or the terminal sentences handed down by people making room for new furniture. Each character in my studio remains loyal and grateful for the reprieve they have received from certain destruction, happy in their redemption and committed to pledge allegiance to the cause.
So as I close this post, it is, to this inanimate community that I must now head as they await instruction on how to aid or inspire me with my next creation or project. What I do know for sure, is that as soon as they hear the key turn in the studio door they will quickly assume their places and be ready for duty and to welcome me back with the greeting, “Long live our noble artist, God save the artist”