A Monday morning has become an active time at Chases Garage, the renovated mechanics where I have my writing studio in York, Maine. As I arrive a ceramics class are spinning wheels to gentle music, a pair of printmakers are problem-solving a woodcut that isn’t producing deep enough blacks, and various of the individual studio inhabitants are busy at work behind closed doors.
One place that isn’t active, yet, is the kitchen. In particular, the dishwasher is sitting untouched, but clean.
An enriching part of working out of a studio like this is that I can reach for a unique, beautifully crafted mug, cup, or plate. As I unload the dishwasher, I find it becomes an act of centering. “A warm-up,” is what I call it as the founder, Ned Roche, walks past.
He thanks me for taking on the task, which could be shared communally but often falls to him. I thank him in return. It’s inspiring to hold beauty before we work. It’s all the more powerful when I consider that these are “seconds.” I am shelving the pieces that another artist left behind, that didn’t meet their vision, that didn’t work. I see art. They see a rehearsal.
I come back to my studio, a mug of tea in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Artistry is thirsty work, and hard work demands hydration. As I slide my blue door closed, in order to begin, I hear the printmakers still not satisfied with their work. They are attempting another solution by dismantling a roller from the press.
The print I’d spied as I passed through their working space was, to my untrained eye, quite beautiful. But the artist sees the flaw, because the artist holds the vision. I’ll take that thought back to my studio along with the mug of tea.