Here goes...

Ok so this is it. Another world. The world of words. Visual artists often complain about it. So I'll start off with an easier topic for me, something concrete. My studio space.

Welcome to blog number 1. An artist in search of a studio.

I've been kicked out of my beautiful studio. For two and a half years I bunkered down on the first floor of a flour mill warehouse in the old part of town. It's not that I had done anything wrong, throwing wild parties or anything, but that my landlord realized the space was worth more to him than $20/week. I used to call it my little corner of Paris. Looking out the double doors to the north west I could see across tree tops to church steeples. I also enjoyed the hubbub of Bedwell's Feed Barn below, with utes pulling up, loading and unloading bales of chaff and lucerne, and chatting about wheat prices. I sat in the doorway in the sun eating my sandwich in between tackling canvasses. Through this doorway opening, I could haul up the timber after walking 3 or 4 metre lengths from Mitre 10 up the road. I'd then cut it with the circular saw, nail the pieces together, stretch the canvas, size the canvas, prime the canvas and cover it with pigment. The space was sizeable enough to store several years of work, empty canvasses, an easel and picture framing equipment.

View from Studio