mis-en-place for the studio and the well appointed gadfly

I forgot to mention that my wife, Jami, made the most incredible pecan pie - as well as bruschetta (wasn't there a 70s cop show of that title?) , a wonderful spread constituted with olives and love. As the picture above indicates (actual footage), she rounded up all my favorite meets and vegetables. And the pie - I can't say enough: it's richer than the treasury, better than (or just as good as) my grandmother's.
Now I meant to talk about studio mis-en-place, that for the artist such a mis-en-place is even more important than for a chef. I daresay it but when I was in New Mexico, scientists from Sandia labs, who worked in the infamous safe rooms reverse engineering alien technology so we can have safe microwavable popcorn, would come by and visit my studio and study my methodology, hours later shaking their heads in wonder as they returned to their black helicopters and left. So I think I know something about organization.
First off I let chaos have its way. Entropy is the natural state of nature and nature teaches us, as Proverbs and Ecclesiastes might say, so that we may pursue things in their proper course. When we learn from nature, we copy God's creative process. And what we see in nature is that God delights in blurring edges, moving things around, losing things, and having stuff pop up in surprising places.
Second - and we may have to come back to this later, as the topic may shock, scare, or nonplus some of the more delicately constituted readers of this blog.
Third off (out down up) it's important that the studio space not be too nice. Or maybe it could be all right if it's nice - I've just never had a nice space. There should be plenty of light, and it helps if a train track is nearby and it's convenient to restaurants, coffee houses, and bars. For a number of years I would water color in bars and coffee houses. If your studio is your room, that might seem to be a downer, but one benefit of painting in your room is that you don't have to get dressed: I've enjoyed painting in my underwear. Certainly I can't paint in my underwear in a "nice" place.
Fourth it's important to have flat surfaces, tables and wall to prop canvases on - easels are a fabrication of the art supply industry and you don't necessarily need them. If you do get an easel get a good solid french easel, season it by throwing a bucket of aged turpentine and linseed oil on it, hack at it with a knife, and partially burn one of the legs. It is important that the easel not look better than any painting. It is important that the easel look like you found it in the woods and brought it home. One of my favorite easels was used to trap rabbits. Sometimes a piece of fur would come out of a crack and become embedded in the paint. Moments like this are what makes a studio's mis en place. Chance should always be in play.

packing up

As all should go well, and it should go well, we now have a home in Durham, a fine home, a home with warmth and a yard and a great upstairs room and with a studio in the back yard: a place where we can spend the next decade or so - whatever our time in Durham - and work and create and play and entertain and live and love; and a place where the kittens can gambol and romp and practice kitten kindness with each other; all in a neighborhood where we can walk and stroll and linger and journey and saunter and jog and lag behind and leap ahead. And it's a dizzying pace to go but long over due. And what can I say right now: I have a cat sleeping on my shoulders making it uncomfortable to sit here and type. And I have to be at work in a few hours. But the weekend comes and Joe and I will have a beer or two at Twain's tomorrow - all being well. Meanwhile Colorado is about to go down two games in the World Series to the Red Sox - the team that stayed in Boston (I root for the team that left Boston).

Come visit my studio this weekend

Above you see a photo of how the exterior of my studio looks right now. I've arranged the boxes in two stacks on either side of the entrance. This makes it a narrow passage. In the middle I've placed a stool with some blocks of wood and a paint covered mason jar. A piece of clear plastic tubing crosses the aperture at eye level, and boxes that are still folded cross over the gap at about 6 feet. I've intended that no one should get inside: unless they remove the stool and sidle in. I hope that they don't. Inside I've put all paintings against the wall, except for this one, that I did tonight. No one should see it - except people looking at this blog.
Saturday night there's an opening for someone. Typically the gallery owner turns on the lights in all our spaces - like someone might come in and buy something. I'm having nothing of it. For one thing, such a thing is unlikely. So I've constructed an environment that discourages entry. You can look from the outside - but you can't enter. On the floor are two Pellegrino bottles. There is an open box of books in my wing back chair.
I swear I know that someone, intending well, will go into my space and tun on the light. If they do, would someone go there and turn it back off - If you can't reach the switch don't worry. There is I have to stand on tip toe. If the stool and blocks of wood and painted mason jar have been moved from blocking the gap, put them back. No one must get into this space. The only person who can get into the space is the person who undoes the work of the person who opens it up. Don't worry about getting things perfect. You've joined in making the art work. All I ask is remember: lights out; stool in middle of the gap between the stacks of boxes. Put the mason jar on it and the blocks of wood. Hopefully you won't have to do this. I suppose that the show starts Saturday at 7:30 or so. The gallery is right next to Fellini's on Sycamore place. My space should be obvious.
Thanks for your help.