It has become abundantly apparent to me that I need an art studio, or to move out. My current room is just not cutting it. Everything that I own is crammed into the smallest room of the house I live in (Please refer to Diagram 1). I also don’t have heat; my parents love me I swear.
This teeny tiny space, where everything is shoved into, is also where I paint. I paint on my bed, since there is no other place to sit in my room any longer. This may be hard to imagine, but painting on a bed is not easy nor is it convenient. And there have been many a paint to sheet casualties.
I used to paint in the living room. That stopped due to severe annoyance. Literally every single time I would paint there my mom or dad would come down and yell and nag at me about getting paint on the carpet or couch, despite the fact that I never ever had done so. Except that one time, when I put a painting outside in the garage where no one ever goes. So naturally my mom went out there, stepped in red paint and tracked it onto the carpet. I have never feared for my life more. I dumped so much water on this one spot of the carpet by my closet and so my mom wouldn’t get wise to what I was doing I took my entire closet apart to cover the spot I was frantically cleaning.
Now that I think about it, I am a messy painter and always end up with paint on some obscure part of my body. Ear, lip, upper thigh underneath my painting leggings, elbow, behind my knee, you name it. But it is only ever my body… or my sheets… actually I’ve gotten it on my carpet, and well… Okay, maybe they have a point. Whatever, back to the point of this post and away from the vindication of my parents and their “rules”.
With the conclusion of my March show, I have several possibilities that are all in the works. And I really want to keep on top of this “art thang”. Argo, it doesn’t make much sense to drive 30 minutes carting all my stuff up to my Grandma’s house tomorrow only to need it all the day after tomorrow (tee hee). Which begs the question, where do I store it until then?
The answer, naturally, is in my already packed room:
And the living room behind the couch.
This place scares me in particular because my mom has a tendency to strongly hate mess in the house and in a cleaning frenzy damaged one of my paintings that I was storing in the basement.
Thus the argument I presented in the start is supported. I need an art studio, or to move out. Alas, neither will happen anytime soon. I do not have the means to afford either. Moving out could happen should I have a roommate, but at the moment I am roommate-less. Janna! Oh why can we not be back at Rutgers in our apartment? How I miss turning my head slightly to converse with another being.
Instead, I will keep fighting the good fight, and finding more places in my room to carefully jam paintings into.
Better yet, anyone want to buy anything from me?