When I look at the photograph of Remington’s studio, I don’t see clutter. I see inspiration. I imagine that every object held meaning for him and inspired him to paint. And write. He was a prolific writer and artist.
Objects have power. Energy. Drive. Objects evoke memories. Memories connect to the heart. The heart stirs passion.
When I had a studio in the Ford Building in the heart of the warehouse district, then in Northrup-King in Northeast, it had the same kind of feel; I surrounded myself with sensual objects.
At any one time in my art studio you could find:
- rusty wheel hubs to photograph (decay is inspiring)
- bags of cattail leaves and day lilies (to beat into handmade paper)
- hanging replicas of human spines bought from a specialty store at the Mall of America (to study and create my own clay models of backbones)
- clear, rectangular, plastic bags of red clay from Minnesota Clay
- rolling pins, camel’s hair brushes, lime plastic triangles, heavy wooden rulers, every size
- butterfly & moth wings gathered from their dead corpses, a lynx tail from a fur trapper given to me by a friend, a tawny snapping turtle shell the size of two breadbaskets
- photographs of sandhill cranes flying in formation over the Platte River in Nebraska
- an easel, a life-size black & white mural print of me & my art classmates taken by a locally famous photographer
- brown suitcase from the 50’s with brass hardware filled with old magazines (images for inspiration)
- candles, a Taos drum and rattle I bought at the pueblo in the 80’s
- fine-lined Staedtler ink pens, two shoeboxes full of Grumbacher acrylic paint tubes, a black leather portfolio of black & white photographs
- sandpaper in all grains, Craftsman screwdrivers, a small metal hammer, brass nails, steel tacks, a hand-rivet fastener, odorless paint thinner, miscellaneous cans of spray paint, cardboard stencil set, hanging lines of tiny beads from Bearhawk Indian Store, a small red sewing kit containing thread, scissors, buttons, needles, that my ex-partner’s parents brought me from a trip to China
- rusty woodstove parts from a half-buried, half-exposed land dump (everyone did this on farms back then) on the land of an artist friend’s grandmother in Thief River Falls
- rolled and stained, off-white canvas with ragged edges (used to roll out clay tiles)
- stretched canvas for painting, erasers of every type, size, texture
- red framed metal shelves, loaded with art books, giant hooks and pulleys, top shelf full of antique cameras, bottom shelf with a plaster mold of the snapping turtle shell that I used to make a papermaking sculpture (that mold is the coolest; I still have it)
- plaster mold of my face (at 39) when I still had the 2 moles on my cheeks, fewer wrinkles, and more time ahead of me
- 1 bees wax & 1 red clay cast of my face from that same plaster mold
The list could go on and on and on. But I’m running out of time. What I want to say about Remington’s studio is that the objects I am drawn to are his easel with the half finished painting, the round drum on the square wooden stand, the leather chaps lined up in a row on the wall, and the round-edged hat hanging almost smack dab in the center.
I imagine that hat on his head when he had lunch with Teddy Roosevelt. And I get a hunger to visit the Badlands.
Thursday, July 26th, 2007
-10 minute practice on Topic post, Remington’s Studio
I read your post, then the post about Remmington. I’m impressed with the attention to the research and detail both posts displayed.
Now’s the time for my practice to begin. It seems like a stretch for me, so why not? I also think that writing and drawing are connected. Maybe I’ll draw first, then write!
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I too like the detail and wonder if I am able to write with such descriptive detail. I guess I will have to work on that.
When I first saw that photograph I was drawn to the bed in the corner and the American flag. The bed, to me, showed the commitment he had to his craft. I could see him working for days on end only taking time to sleep when he was exhausted.
The flag made me wonder if it was there when he worked or was placed after the studio was opened to the public. If it was there when he worked then it says a lot about his patriotism. I wonder how many artists today have an American flag in their studios?
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Yes, I thought the same thing about the bed. A place to lie down when he needed to take a nap.
QM: sounds like your studio contents took years to accumulate. How much of that have you since carried with you to other places? How much have you let go of? I’m curious because I realize that my really old art supplies are now distilled down into a plastic container that’s big but not so big that I can’t carry it. I looked through it the other day and felt like surely some things were missing. I couldn’t figure out what, but it seemed too light. I feel that sense quite a bit since we moved. Like I used to have more clothes or I used to have more everything. We shed so much in the move, yet I don’t remember throwing things out. It just seems they’re gone.
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Thanks, mariacristina. And thanks for linking us to your piece, The Rocker (link). It’s so great to know it was inspired by the Topic post. Thanks again!
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R3, so great to see you on red Ravine again. Your comments are always so thought provoking. The detail, I think, comes from the years of writing practice Ive done as a result of Writing Down the Bones and studying with Natalie Goldberg. It’s really taught me so much about the practice of writing. Or the practice of art.
You bring up a good question about the flag. I do wonder how many artists have a flag displayed in their studios. I don’t know how much, if any, of the studio was staged or added after the fact. It would be a good thing to check into.
The bed – I remember many nights staying all night at MCAD, trying to finish up an installation or working in the darkroom or in the printmaking studio. I pulled a lot of all nighters. I am sure he used the bed! You are right – dedication to his craft. Cool.
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ybonesy, I collected most of that in the three years I was in school and a few years after – maybe about five years. I got rid of a lot of it when I moved. But I kept quite a bit, too, because I want to have another studio. I kept mostly supplies and some of the objects if I thought they might not be able to be replaced.
The bees wax face was thrown into a fire on one of my significant birthdays – it was a symbol of shedding the old me and letting in the new. Most of the rusty parts are gone. No place to store them. Same with the butterfly and moth wings. Dust to dust. I still have the lynx tail. It’s one of my totems.
I’ve kept many of my final art pieces and photographs. The process pieces are gone. I guess I got rid of about 50% when I moved. I don’t miss it. And I could get rid of tons more. Just ask Liz. 8)
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http://www.on-my-desk.blogspot.com/
Go take a look over here. These artists are showing their studio spaces. I find it fascinating.
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Leslie, thanks for the link. I’d love to check it out. I’m on my way out the door but will definitely see what’s there. I love seeing how writers and artists work. It seems to be as different as each of us are! Thanks for coming over to red Ravine. It’s great to open up community to more and more like-minded souls!
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Leslie, just had a chance to check out the On My Desk site. Very inspiring. Makes me want to start painting and messing up an art space soon. And I wish I had taken photos when I did have an art studio. I’m in-between studio spaces at the moment.
As a writer, I don’t need much space to create. I only need my shelves and shelves of books around me. But as an artist, I like to have all my tools and art objects around me for inspiration. Different processes for me.
Did you post your space on the On My Desk site? It’s something I’ll keep in mind for the future. You know what’s amazing is that most of these spaces seemed pretty tidy. And most had lots of light and a flat-top desk space.
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