Yesterday I phoned up about a possible studio space just around the corner. Talk about wishful thinking. But nothing ventured – nothing gained. Maybe…I thought to myself… it’s time to up the anti. The thing is – it’s a safe thing to do – phoning up – and asking about the space, because firstly it is unlikely to be available, and even if it is, I am unlikely to be able to afford to pay for it and anyway it will be cold, damp and no less than a death trap for small children under the age of one. What’s more, if it were available and there was any chance in hell that I could take it – I would need to find at least 3 others who would want to and would be able to fork out the squids each week on the rent and rates and pursue any creative leanings they might have in a space specifically dedicated to that purpose – with babies in tow. Then there is the issue of what I myself would do once in this space. I could of course transport all my paints and stuff to the studio cos it’s so near and line it all up – really neatly. I could prepare canvases and lean them in an orderly fashion against the wall starting with largest closest to the (damp) wall and smallest nearest the (drafty) interior. I could also try to enlist the help of able bodied males or females to help with replacing the tarpaulins on the roof that are no longer effective at catching rain drops.
There would be so much to do. How exciting.