It has changed to each change possible. Table on the east wall to the west wall and on the north wall. Each setting seemed befitting of its presence. Each giving immense satisfaction, till it seemed unfitting. It accommodated a cupboard in between. A guest for a year or two. Many parties on many nights. A few sleep overs. And clutter as a constant companion.
A studio is supposed to feed thoughts.To aid working.To nurture dreams.To push the artist to explore. Did it serve its purpose? Am yet to decide.
It became a sort of a den. Housing fights,providing comfort,hosting people,collecting smoke.And work in between.But it could never generate the energies of my previous studio.
But it did satisfy the artistic ego-of having a studio.
Does the space aid the artistic thought?Or does the artist propel its space around?It is like a dilemma of living in the head. When one perceives things differently or rather lives inside thoughts.When the present is like a denial.The denial of the table for example.It(table) was constructed with the thought of working on it. But all it was used for was the computer and stacking of material.There was hope of using the material everyday.But it was never achieved. But the satisfaction was always there that it was there.That I will empty some space and use it.
But many hours were spent just clearing it.That effort itself consumed so many energies that the energy to work also got consumed.
And funnily,as I type this today-that studio no longer exists.It is morphed into a bedroom now.