This is how I feel about my studio. Content, fortunate — for the time being. I suffer from no desire to change up the configuration or make improvements. I don't even concern myself with the mouldering drywall or occasional mouse-sighting because I know that this could all be gone in a month's notice. The forest of cranes surrounding my studio neighbourhood of East 2nd Avenue and Main are a constant reminder of that.
There is no time to procrastinate at the studio; there is work to be done before the backhoe shows up and knocks down the cinderblock walls. And then where will I go? And what will become of my two artist studio-mates, the several ceramic artists in the three studios down the hall, the special effects guys who work in the film industry in two other studios, the musician and the fibre artist on either side of our shared space?
Everyone has a story about someone who's moved to the Sunshine Coast or her basement or Toronto, or who's had to switch from sculpture to jewelry-making due to a lack of space. We try not to dwell on the fact that a long commute from our apartments to a studio is a deal-breaker for many of us who decided to buy art materials instead of a car. We stay in the moment, stay on the topic of the work at hand, but even if we keep our head down, refrain from looking skyward, there are constant reminders. A Globe & Mail story this week by venerable reporter Frances Bula states that the VIVO Media Arts Centre property has been sold and it has to be out by May, after 20 years helping local artists and activists create video and music. We know that with every bit of news about high-clout galleries relocating next door, more controversy over highrise development, our days are numbered.