Welcome to the 218th installment of A View From the Easel, a series in which artists reflect on their workspace. This week, artists turn storefronts into studios, work in travel trailers filled with nostalgic treasures, borrow from California’s natural landscape, and bring the walls of a cave to life.
Want to take part? Check out our submission guidelines and share a bit about your studio with us! All mediums and workspaces are welcome, including your home studio.
Claire Dunn, Buenos Aires, Argentina
This is my studio in Argentina — a circular space crowned with a dome and nestled among trees. This unique sanctuary was originally a messenger dove coop. I now refer to it as “La Cueva” — my cave. It serves as both an exploration of my world and a launching pad to traverse other dimensions. In this cave, there are marks on the wall created through hand-painting, my own artistic expressions, sometimes while I work on pieces, and imprints left by invited guests’ hands, all of it makes these living walls. I cherish bringing treasures into my cave — painted leaves, bark, feathers, stones collected from my adventures, books, and musical instruments. The connection with nature acts as a conduit for my creativity, with the cave becoming a canvas for a fusion of elements. Fabrics that have weathered the elements also find a place in my cave. They bear imprints of rain, stars, suns, and moons in their various phases, mirroring the union of sky and earth. Sometimes, emotions like certainty and uncertainty find better expression through artistic actions.
Hilary Baker, Ojai, California
After 17 years of freeway commuting to the last of my many Los Angeles studios, I moved my home and studio to a small, rural city 80 miles northwest of LA. This studio has been on the property for years, and the moment I saw it, I knew I’d found the perfect workspace. When I walk out my back door and into my studio, it functions as an extension of the outdoors. Over the years, no matter where my studios were located, my work was inevitably influenced by my surroundings. Here, up against the Topatopa mountains, the oak, maple, and pine trees spread a canopy over our property. Soon after settling in, I found myself working on a series of paintings on wood slices. Like the Camp Art of the early 20th century, my “souvenir” paintings are observations on the rural landscape of my new home in Ojai, California.
Alyssa Keil, Athens, Ohio
This is the view from a storefront in a mall. I have used this storefront — a former jewelry store, and after that, a shoe store — as a personal studio and communal arts space for the last few months. For my work, this has taken the form of projections, sound-activated lights and visuals, and locally found clay painted on the walls. I am interested in creating works that coexist within the physical structures of consumerism and decay. From here; one can see the local branch of the Ohio BMV, a number of mall visitors, the din of radio, beeps, and human speech. Here I am asking: how do you create art in a space that is designed for passive consumption? One that feels uncomfortable to stay in for prolonged periods of time? And conversely, how can you repurpose fluorescent lighting, display cases, and hostile architecture to showcase art rather than products?
Charlotte Tarantola, Calabasas, California
Pinky the Pleasurecraft rolled along highways as a 13-by-eight-foot travel trailer starting in 1956 and became mine in 2000 full of beer cans and broken glass. Today, Pinky houses multiple easels and all of my tools, and accommodates works and commissions from four by five inches to 24 by 36 inches concurrently. I use every part of the trailer for storage, it’s incredible how much room there is in here! Drawers, cabinets, a closet, shelves, even an oven for rolls of paper towels! I love ephemera and having a place to put all of these treasures fills me with inspiration and an opportunity to indulge in nostalgia. There’s something freeing about being in Pinky. I get to be close to home (less than 100 yards) and yet I feel a world away from distractions. Once I’m in the trailer, hours go by quickly and the honey-glow of the interior’s birch wood veneer is warming and cocoonish. Suffice it to say, the draw to get into the trailer is strong. Not only is it filled with things I love, but it is a private space, a useful space, and full of great memories.
