What Makes a Space a Studio?

If you’re working with paint or clay or melted glass, your studio may be a space that can get messy, a place where you can splatter color all over the walls and light things on fire and spill and scatter . For a writer, that space is called the Page. There, you can make grammatical stains, let greasy plot drip all over, and watch characters dribble coffee on the carpet.

The (current) view from the kitchen window

I love the mess of the Page, however, I must return, from time to time, to my grounding studio. When my story seems lost, when I can’t remember what drew me to the characters: at those times I enter my studio and rediscover the longing that drives creativity.

For me, the bus is a studio, because it is a place that reawakens my creative ache, but a studio does not have to be a physical space. A season can be a studio; every fall, my desire to knit is reawakened. A studio can be a steaming cup of tea, an excellent book, oil lamps and wood heat on a cold winter night, a memory or an image or a song.

The bus at night

Where/ what is your studio?

How do you reawaken your creative ache?

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