It was being in a city rife with artists that brought me back to painting after a couple of decades in the soul-sucking employment of corporations and start-ups. Once I tapped into the buzz, the creative current that seemed to run below the streets like buried wires, it became easier to migrate to less conventional ways of making money. I will walk dogs and be an herbalist, thought I. And I acclimated, and I put down some roots, and then one of my roots hit a live wire and I took out all of my old paints and brushes. The next thing I knew, I was hanging my work in a local cafe and people were contacting me about doing a painting for them.
I shared studio space in an old brick building with about 30 other artists. I loved the smell of art supplies that permeates a studio, the area rugs thrown down over concrete floors and couches to flop on for a neighborly conversation or a quick meal, the communal slop sinks, the echo of footsteps late at night in an otherwise crypt-like building to remind me that I wasn’t alone, the 10-minute walk home down busy, tree-lined streets which were quietly still at midnight. We don’t become nostalgic for places until we leave them, and I have to admit that even in the 20- and 30-degree temps of December, I miss the cement floor and brick walls of an old studio building.
Moving to Plymouth, the cultural contrast has taken some getting used to. Of course, there are no studio buildings down here, and I set up in a spare room of my home. The art scene lacks vibrancy, vitality, visibility. It feels old, with its seascapes and florals, and I found myself missing that current I could just tap into, the inspiration of energetic and unique artwork. Here, I need to make it, myself. After working on commissions for 15 years, the gift of this new location is the prompt to start prioritizing my own art instead of work that others want me to paint. Don’t get me wrong — I gain a deep sense of fulfillment by creating paintings that bring joy to the client, and I will always do so. But now I can’t rely on my environment to keep me inspired. It took a while for me to figure it out, but it’s time to reinvigorate and rethink. Experiment. Play. Screw up and try again. Have fun.
The front room with its bay window facing southeast provides great light for plants and for painting. It’s a lot smaller than my city studio, but the lighting is better, and I can step into it merely by walking through a room or two. It doesn’t require monthly rent, which is always a plus. I can look out at the snow in the winter (gorgeous even when there are 30 inches of it). And now, it is the home of an entirely different approach to painting.
Nancy Anderson 
Another creative outlet……..I love it! You wrote so articulately that I felt I was inside your heart and head myself. Keep it up!
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