This is the 196 th installment of a series in which artists send in a photo and a description of their workspace. In light of COVID-1 9, we’ve queried participants to reflect on how the pandemic has impacted their studio infinite and/ or if their work process has changed while quarantining. Want to take part? Please submit your studio! Really check out the submission guidelines.

David Bender, Brooklyn, New York

I live with my artwork or my prowes lives with me — it’s a love-hate relationship. I’ve been mostly alone during this past year, and at times — like many others — have experienced a pain loneliness. I am thankful that I have this fury as it has helped to sustain me through some reasonably dark moments. Over the course of the past year, I have witnessed a seismic switch in my application of colour and the portraits that I paint. I believe it to be an instinctive response to the existential threat that the pandemic has rendered. The images I now draw are seriously streamlined. One could even say that they are primitive. And the pigments are primary, electric, and at the outer lines of the dye pedal. All this as a action of offsetting for the darkness which has hung over mine/ all of our heads for the past year. If there’s been a silver lining in this past year’s experience; it has been starting office that has fixed me happy.

Binda Colebrook, Northampton, Massachusetts

In March 2020 I had a show set to open on the 14 th. It did not happen. The next day, our adult children both moved residence and our tiny residence became even smaller. March was also the month that I had increased the amount of period I could deplete in the studio. But we had to create a room in my studio with pall walls for one of our teenagers. This lasted until June when they moved out again.

In those early months, I stimulated is currently working on one table — pencil-on-paper moves of undermined trees. The reduction of space was interesting. It contributed significantly to a slowing down of labor production, but an explosion of ideas and projects that have fueled precede production. What you see in this photo is some of that product. The portion on the far wall is the Hemlock Disappearing Act. When we were impelled by the pandemic into our interior seats, my response was to seek out larger, less inhabited natural openings. My job started from exploring the psychological infinite within and between humen, to the mental cavity between human rights and the planet we come from.

Janice McDonnell, Brooklyn, New York

I love my studio in either two states: clean-living and orderly, which is usually reserved for Open Studios, or a terminated mess, which is the goal most other times. Mess intends work is being acquired, inventive gambles made, notions acted on and often abandoned. It entails the piece that is bouncing around my intelligence has permeated out into the physical world for good or bad. My studio is located in a big complex of studios in Brooklyn. During lockdown I went to the studio only once to grab equips that I could use at home in a improvised employ gap created in my apartment foyer with a French easel, clip beacon, and collapsible three-legged stool. I coated still lifes with found objectives from around the apartment.

When the city began opening up again, I came back to the studio in Phase 3. It was scary, though. My studio mate and I set up a schedule so we wouldn’t be working at the same time. Mask settles were implemented for the common domains. I was still agitated about emptying grazes at the shared slop capsize or squandering the restrooms. My entrusts were fresh from the mitt sanitizers and bleach obliterates used every time I reentered my studio infinite. The biggest skirmish, however, was the labor; my studio was in limbo. The covers that I was working on pre-pandemic — landscape paintings of the Brooklyn waterfront — seemed pointless, especially during the rallies for social justice. I felt stuck in my neither clean-living nor messy studio.

It turned itself around as the summer progressed and time spent outdoors watching my community represent the most of the circumstances. Pop-up music of several categories dallied all over Prospect Park, along with theater groups playing sonnets on challenge and kids summer camps, all held accountable with disguises and distancing. It was inspiring. The human atmosphere had cracked through and moved the most of the situation and it was lovely. Seeing the canoe club on the Gowanus Canal kicked me back into gear, and I started working on landscapes again, and I likewise retained the still lifes travelling, and I wanted to do a little screen etching and there is this light box illustration thing I’ve been thinking about. My studio is a complete disaster zone right now and I cherish it.

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