It Only Looks Empty On the Outside

under the pillow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Under the Pillow” by Michele Bledsoe

Years ago, I had a studio space above the art gallery that was representing my work. It was a large, open space occupied by several other artists. I was fascinated by all the little environments these artists created for themselves – tables littered with weird objects, drapery, stacks of art books and reference materials. The walls surrounding each area were plastered with photographs, photocopies and rough sketches of works in progress.

When I was alone, I would secretly wander around from space to space, examining everyone’s work and the little worlds they had created for themselves.

One evening, one of the other artists approached me. Apparently, he too enjoyed looking at everyone’s stuff. He was curious why my work area was completely empty. Nothing but an easel and a chair facing a blank white wall.

Everything I need exists within the vast universe of my imagination. My work area is a place without limits or boundaries.

It only looks empty on the outside.

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