A few weekends ago we went to Open Studios Lowell to look around the artist studios and see what was happening. It’s such a vibrant community in the Western Avenue Studios where artists both live and work. I spent the hour imagining what it would be like to live and work everyday in creativity. And then we walked to a part of the mill with empty studios. For rent.
In my imagination, this studio has an overstuffed couch with lots of pillows, a cushion on the window ledge, our old wooden farmer’s table, and a wireless router. The wall is a story map, a timeline, a portrait gallery of characters.
I see myself sitting at the table, writing about my grandfather and my students. I see Thea, sketching a new character, using her bent knees as a desk. Anya is banging on her laptop up on the window seat.
I wanted to run home and create a studio there. I wanted to walk over to the office and rent this one. I wanted to sit right down and write.
Since leaving the studio that day I have barely written outside of course assignments and schoolwork. But I don’t feel sad when I look at this empty studio. I don’t lament or complain or even pine for it. I smile. Creativity lives wherever we bring it to life. Today, that’s my kitchen table, the middle school auditorium, the family computer, and Thea’s bedroom.
Someday it might be a studio like this one.