The Artist's Real Studio
Blog post description.
Numa
8/3/20252 min read
People imagine artists in big, light-filled lofts.
High ceilings. Exposed brick. Vintage rugs. Industrial lamps angled just right over a massive wooden workbench.
You know — the kind of studio you see in a Netflix documentary or a Pinterest mood board.
But that’s not my studio.
My Living Room Studio
Most days, my studio is my living room.
The lounge is my desk.
Sometimes I balance my sketchbook on my knees, coffee within arm’s reach, music low enough to hear the scratch of my pen.
Other times, I set up camp at the breakfast bar.
Same tools, different view.
I can see the morning light shifting across the tiles while I work, which feels like its own kind of timer — telling me when to wrap up and get moving.
My Outdoor Studio
When the weather’s right, I move outside.
My “outdoor studio” is an old Ikea rocking chair parked under the shade.
From there, I can see the ducks and chickens wandering around the yard, pecking at the grass, completely unaware they’re part of my workspace.
Coffee in hand, sketchbook open, the air smells faintly of wet earth and feathers.
It’s not glamorous. But it’s alive.
The Studio Myth
There’s a myth that you need the perfect space before you can start.
That once you have the right setup, the work will magically pour out of you.
I’ve been doing this long enough to know — it doesn’t work like that.
Your studio is wherever you can protect a small bubble of focus.
It might be a corner of a lounge room, a café table, the front seat of your car parked under a tree.
The magic isn’t in the location — it’s in the commitment.
The Real Work
A “real studio” is just four things:
Tools — whatever you use to make.
Time — carved out, protected, stubbornly kept.
Attention — the ability to drop in, even if only for 20 minutes.
You — showing up, again and again.
If those are in place, the art will happen.
It won’t wait for perfect conditions — and neither should you.
In the end, my studio isn’t something I walk into.
It’s something I carry with me — from the lounge to the breakfast bar, from the rocking chair to the open air.
The real studio isn’t a place.
It’s a practice.