| Christine | Farmer |

   

Above: Stages of work on the studio drawing – the final piece can be seen below.

When I was young I always wanted a little place at the bottom of the garden to which I could retreat and take my books, notepaper and pens, and found items such as the stones, shells, feathers and other objects that still fascinate me.  Now I have managed to create that retreat as somewhere to work, to imagine, and to get my ideas out on paper in words and images.

My new work concentrates on the need we have to create and retreat to our own spaces, whether they be dolls’ houses, childhood dens under a hedge, or the garden shed. I think it’s an impulse entirely natural to us; something like animals creating their own homes in trees and hedgerows, and furnishing them with feathers, moss, leaves and sometimes more decorative items. I suppose this is one reason I am interested in birds’ nests, bees creating their little cells and storing pollen, and even in the tunnels of the ants’ nest under a stone.

   

Above: Some of my garden wildlife – click for larger images.

Six months ago, I set my mind on a completely new career in Art. I had been drawing again after a hiatus of two decades, re-visiting my early fascination with extremely detailed pen and ink work, and I came to realise that this was something I’d love to do on a full-time basis: but where? Up until then I’d been using the dining table for drawing, and storing my paper and drawings in portfolios behind the sofa. I knew that if I wanted to approach this professionally I’d need to find space for a full-sized drawing table and map chest at minimum. And preferably more space to allow for cutting, storage of art materials and a computer and printer. I needed a place for thinking and doing; somewhere which would be entirely devoted to all phases of the creative process from staring out of the window, onwards.

I’d already been using the tiny summerhouse as a place to sketch during the summer, but being small and either damp from the rain or baking in the sunshine (and often full of tomato plants) it was no place for paper! I began thinking of a much larger garden shed, did some searches online, and discovered a whole new world of ‘garden offices’ , gyms and saunas and all sorts of structures that could be erected in just a few days. I decided to turn the available space at the end of the garden over to a brand new purpose-built studio; a place which would be a world away from drawing on the dining room table when household activities permitted.

  

Above: Working on the dining room table, and the old summerhouse.

In a matter of weeks we’d had a site visit from one of the building companies, and discussed with them exactly what size building could be squeezed into the tiny space available, and what features I could have. Having everything to hand, in a beautifully sunlit, warm, dry atmosphere was the vision, and  I chose a higher-than standard ceiling (though it still seems only ‘adequate’ to me – I can’t bear low ceilings!), full windows along the south-facing entrance, and two more on the eastern side. In less than a month the structure was made in their factory, and then erected here on site in just under three days. By Christmas I had my studio, with electricity, heating, Internet access and plenty of space.

Click here to see the before and after photographs of the building process.

The next step was to furnish it with a drawing table and other necessary furniture. I bought and re-covered the drawing table, a complete bargain on Ebay, and also the map chest which is from around the 1950s and beautifully constructed. Then it was time to start deciding on a computer on which to write my all-important artist’s web-site; the process of which will be the subject of a future blog post.

   

Above: The finished studio.

After working here now for a few months I can say that the decision to have the studio built was probably one of the best I’ve ever made, as it really is no exaggeration to say it has changed my life completely. I absolutely love the peace and quiet of the setting, which is right in the heart of the garden with all its life and action: something not even visible from the house because of the layout of the terraced property. Now every day I’m at work is enlivened with animal and bird activity, from the inquisitive squirrel staring in through the window to the strange scrabbling of the pigeons on the roof. Even rainy days become interesting with frogs flinging themselves from the pond in search of lunch! Coffee breaks can be taken on the decking overlooking the pond or staring at passing clouds, and the home commute is blissful.

Living in the Midlands, I’m about as far as you can get from the sea in Britain, and yet my garden has something of the feel of the coast because of my love and collection of shells and pebbles. Dad loved to sail, and I have remnants of his little boat all around the garden; the mast and boom provide climbing frames for hops and vines, and this last picture of my ‘commute home’ (above) shows part of his small anchor. Everywhere I look there are things to fascinate and remind me of why I do what I do. All these objects, and the setting, are of vital importance to the creation of my work, which is all about memory, remains and place.

 

The Studio, Stourbridge: Graphite on paper, 2009.

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