TO CRINGE IS HUMAN   A motivated and attractive new group of adult painting students graced my studio last week as we inaugurated a new six-class introductory painting series. The students' exposure to painting varies as much as their own professional backgrounds, but their interest in furthering their painting skills was unanimous and exciting. I reviewed color mixing, said a bit about drawing vs. painting, and discussed materials and equipment. I showed them the "good" restroom, then I threw them into the pool and they began painting a still-life. They rose to the occasion and did some great preliminary work, albeit with some degree of dissatisfaction. (More about dissatisfaction with one's work next week.)

After class, a student went down the hall to wash her implements of art-making. My fellow artist-tenants and I share a janitor's closet which sports a utility sink for this purpose. Our cleaning of the space is laissez-faire. (Think: The Invisible Hand Theory of Maintenance.) This is where we do our messy work; it is not where we live.

I thought I saw this student cringe as she entered the janitor's closet. I suddenly saw it through her eyes: it is a gas station rest room. A rusted porcelain sink spattered with years of painting detritus is held up by 2 x 4's. A dusty urinal, unused for years, is on the left. A similarly unused toilet with a permanent hard-water ring in the bowl flanks the sink on the right. Mops, brooms, buckets, trash cans, and a grungy industrial vacuum cleaner populate the corner. The whole scene is illumined by a dim bulb in the ceiling, augmented in its hideousness by the roaring of a vent fan which can't be turned off. Ew.

I can only hope that the joy of painting so manifest in my class can overcome my student's revulsion.

The larger point, if there is one: work, and especially creative work, where one is not following a set procedure or repeating what has already been tried, is experimental, messy, and engrossing. The work environment cannot therefore be precious. Artists wear clothes that can be ruined, and work in spaces that can be messed up. There is no glamorous personal presentation, no "professional", respectable image projected. It's all about your project, not about you. This is a good thing--you forget about yourself.

I once had a computer date with a man who told me I was a "stretch date" for him. (What?) He said that since I was an artist, he thought I would be flaky and irresponsible, and a few other bad things. Well, buddy, I'm not, but I am guilty of wearing thrift shop jeans and paint shoes when I work, and I use a crappy utility closet and restroom with very flimsy toilet paper. I know, you aren't impressed.

Another time a woman renting studio space in my building wanted someone to split her rent with her since she spent a lot of time away. Her studio was gorgeous, with wood floors, white walls, special lighting, nice sofas to lounge in and even a rug. (A rug!) She wanted to see my space. When she did, she dropped me like a hot potato. You see, her space was really a gallery. There was no sign of work being done (because it wasn't.) She really wanted someone to babysit her gallery, not work in an artist's studio.

I did clean things up a bit after last week, however, and put out some extra-fluffy status toilet paper with thick embossed lines and fancy soap and a "show towel." I am sure the class will like it.