André Breton in his studio, c. 1939.
The past couple of weeks had me split my time between writing at home and working in an office. The latter is part of a very open, friendly and creative institution, a place that does not confirm clichés often associated with an office – such as routine, boredom, bullying, regulations or gossip.
Still, it makes me appreciate days spent in the house writing much more than before. To describe it, I would borrow photographer and filmmaker Perry Ogden’s words, who characterises his idea of an artist’s studio in the following terms:
What is the studio? Where is the studio? Ideas can come at any time, any place – and at the slightest suggestion. For me the studio is where these ideas take shape. A laboratory of sorts. A space in which to research and experiment. To read, to sleep, to love, to listen. To dream. Music. Chaos. Uncertainty. Silence. A place to be alone – and not alone. I’m still looking.
Shouldn’t the world be more like this studio? Shouldn’t offices be more like this studio? Places to research and experiment? To read, to sleep, to love, to listen? To dream?
Music. Chaos. Uncertainty. Silence.
Places to be alone – but for the most part not alone.