After spending last week shipping close to 20 works to new collectors, I am finally coming back down to reality from the rush. It is exhilarating, validating and a bit heavy on the nerves (will the piece arrive undamaged? will the collector like the piece when they see it in person?, etc.). After all said and done, it’s a wonderful feeling (even if one piece had to camp out in customs in Switzerland due to a clerical error).
Now that I am back to my studio I realized the chaos that had ensued in the studio over the past month. Being an artist, there is no shortage of ideas. Handwritten scribbles are stacked or tape around the studio. My phone’s “notes” app is filled to the gills with half-brained momentary sparks of ingenuity. I try to write down (or type) everything. This doesn’t mean that everything gets made. By far, the are more “probably not good” ideas than there are “nailed it!” ideas. But doing so, gets everything out of my head so I can sift through later. My world is filled with painting, illustration, craft, artisan, high end and low-brow, fine art, sculpture, film, movement, vibrance, music, sound, engineering, and just about any “ism” of art. I love it all. And my studio reflects this. As I stared at my studio yesterday, pondering what I was going to make next (should I do the pyrography bookmarks, maybe work on the table-top sculptures, I really need to finish that big shadow box-esque piece, or start something new), I realized the chaos of my mind was overflowing into the studio. And vice versa. Like a king snake eating it’s on tail. The doors were closing in and I was about to break my neck from simply tripping over one of the many gallon cans of “Oops!” paint from Lowe’s.
It was time. Time, indeed, to clean up and re-organize. I spent the day re-organizing my acrylics, oils and spray paints by color. Stacking and protecting finished artwork. Sweeping the paint drip-ridden and plaster-infested floors. I finally moved that damn gigantic Gorilla piece up next to that big Polar bear piece so they were both protecting each other and I could finally access my second easel.
When I walked out there this morning, I had forgotten that I had cleaned up and my body’s natural muscle memory had developed an awkward “avoid the table to the right with the cans of spray paint, now contort your left left leg to step over the box of electronics, and then shove your right shoulder forward as to not run into the life-size penguin sculpture (you are still working on!)” walk that my brain quickly turned back into my normal gate and I thought to myself, “ahhhhh, now isn’t that nice, Will?”