As we prepare for Zach's studio open house this weekend, I am reminded of this one passage in Night Studio: A Memoir of Philip Guston, written by his daughter Musa Mayer. In it, she describes Guston's studio this way:
My father's notes stay tacked up on the Homosote walls beside his desk -- memos to himself, and
lists of the paintings to be shipped to the retrospective of his work that has opened, only weeks
before, at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Pots of dirty paintbrushes stand on the
drying palettes. Turpentine hardens into brown, gluey masses. His work shirts hang on the hook
by the door, bespattered and torn at the elbow; his paint-daubed chair with claw feet sits facing
a wall where his latest paintings -- small acrylics on paper -- are hung patchwork style, with
pushpins. An ashtray on a brass pedestal is still filled with his cigarette butts.
I love her description of Guston's organized chaos. I've had the great honor of being in different artist studios in my life, and each one of them fascinates and charms me in its own unique way. They all have this in common though: they are spaces crammed with ideas, experiments, innovations, much hope, many triumph moments, and countless disappointments. Every studio provides a glimpse into the artist's state of mind, the energy behind the finished work. I find it to be an exciting and extraordinary privilege to be welcomed into an artist's private work area.
If you'd like a peek into Zach's bizarre mind, we'd love to have you visit his studio this Sunday, from 11am to 6pm!