I keep an apartment across town from where I actually sleep every night. Each month when I pay my rent I feel my stomach drop as I fill out the thousand-dollar check, and I realize, I keep this space, because it is a placeholder—a placeholder for some idea of a studio.
I have artist friends around town who work with materials in their spaces, while I find myself sitting in my apartment by day—which is abandoned by night—staring at the wall thinking. My material is my computer, it can be used nearly anywhere. I suppose I am happy to stare at the wall of my somewhat abandoned home rather then an industrial place across town.
I went to a residency a couple years ago and got into trouble for not giving a shit about the free studio space they allotted. In graduate school, a professor, unsettled by my empty studio, told me to put a couch in it, and that helped.
This past year, I have been doing a lot of filming around Los Angeles, meeting strangers, moving quickly, working over a very spread out area. I sometimes return to my apartment to view the work, using a projector to edit, and then cramming people into the space to look at the work.
The living room is a cave I’ve created to watch movies and edit, it’s an unlivable space for anyone beside myself. But what else can I do? This is a third work in a series that has taken about six years to realize. This is a portrait, from a series of portraits, of my studio.