STUDIO NOMAD

My (temporary) New Hampshire studio, attached to a 200-year-old home, the homeowners, a retired couple, were delighted to see the space put to productive use, but they warned me this Spring the house would likely be sold. I had to move out at the end of February, but I enjoyed the light and the space, and I gained friends in my landlords and their sweet dog Sierra (who you should know adores me). 

My Florence studio, a space I once shared with a restorer of old photos, an artisanal bookmaker, and another American, a writer. High ceiling, indirect light, plenty of space, low rent, and only ten minutes bike ride from home, it was a godsend. But by last year, the leak in the ceiling, which the landlords steadfastly ignored, was out of control—buckets of water, bits of plaster ceiling on the floor, black mold creeping along the walls. And rent and utilities had doubled; by then the only tenants left were me and Dario the mentalist, who needed a space where he could give performances on Zoom; and a pile of household junk at one end of the room, which we rented out. Basta; I gave notice. 

I’ll be back in Florence in just a few days, searching once again for affordable studio space. Dario told me he gets evicted in June, so the old studio is not an option. In the meantime, I'll go around the city, building up my supplies of precious source material, scavenging old and torn advertising posters off the city's walls.