Last weekend was it-my wife Deb & I moved the last of my work out of my studio in Brooklyn and to our place in upstate NY. “We’re getting too old for this” we said over and over as we carried load after load onto the passenger elevator, sweat staining our shirts. And as if to prove the point, as we were moving out a younger generation was moving in. As far as the art world goes, New York belongs to the young-with dreams still fresh and lives yet to be determined. The trials and tribulations of city life lie less heavily upon shoulders buoyed by enthusiasm and unburdened by disappointment.
So this is it–The Barn. Studio #10, by our count, in this vocation of mine.
And it feels great. Man it fits like a glove. Behind the house and next to the garden, the cow bell rings when she wants me to come in–or she just walks up the ramp to visit. I got the tunes cookin’ and I play ’em loud–and there’s no one to answer to, no one to complain. It feels like I’ve always been here-or that I’ve finally found the place I’ve been looking for. Age does have some benefits.
Before I moved in-I put up a wall-gotta have a working wall. And this is the initial configuration:
I’m going to add another piece of sheetrock on the right side-so the working wall will be twelve feet in length-which should be sufficient. And eventually I’ll put up shelves and when I get the courage up I’ll clean the batshit out of the loft.
and these are the first sketches–a few warm-ups, just to get a groove going, get the feel of the place. Pastel and charcoal-nothing too heavy–just for fun:
I did them on crumpled up newsprint that was used as packing material in a box UPS brought us. I love working on garbage.