Last month I moved into a charming second-story apartment in Mid City, a short walk away from Bayou St. John and City Park. The apartment has wood floors, high ceilings, and I can see sky out of every window. My studio moved with me, and due to the aforementioned view of the sky, I’ve taken to calling it the sky room.
My new workspace is bright and the morning light is especially inviting. At sunrise, light floods through my bedroom windows to wake me, and by the end of the day, raking light cuts across the studio, reminding me to take a break. I enjoy the way the sun moves across the apartment, carrying me through my day.
I can hear birds, the muffled hum of cars, and the occasional person walking by outside. It’s peaceful in the sky room. When I shut the door, I feel like I’m in a fortress that floats above the city.
I’ve filled the space with things I love - beautiful objects and pops of color. The walls are mostly bare in anticipation of new work, a metaphor for a blank page. I have just enough plants that I can see one wherever I turn, but not so many that they impede my work surfaces (a careful balance that I have spent years perfecting). Protective amulets hang by the door to keep bad energy out.
My studio energizes me, calms me, and holds space for my practice. It is my sanctuary, the sacred space where I retreat to think, to work, to play. It feels appropriate that I’m starting fresh in this space after months spent working through the Artist’s Way and re-envisioning what my life as a professional artist could be. This space is perfectly suited to me, exactly as I am now.