My studio is a hermit cave. I hole myself up there for hours, weeks, months, far away from everything but the ink-splattered cinder block walls and the potheads who frequent the art village roofs late at night.
Below is the door to my studio, tucked away beneath the stairs to the upper gallery and painting studios, out of sight, out of mind. I share my space with a collection of archaic word presses and a flotilla of tiny unorganized press letters which will probably end up giving me lead poisoning, at the very least.
Onward to the presses. These photos are from the lithography room, where chemistry happens and limestone abounds.
Off to the screen printing room. This is where I’ve spent the majority of my time this semester, because it is glorious here.
And now. This is my table. In my studio. The one with the lead.
I have now divulged the why and the where of my latest project; the how is still a chaotic mess scattered all across my mind. Stay tuned; I may even figure it all out.