Last night I decided to hand in my notice at the studio. It's a great studio, but I can't help it, I'm just not a studio person. Sometimes I like working there, but more often I am completely convinced my words and drawings are hiding somewhere else, at some particular cafe or in the library. Then I get intensely irritable and start breaking pencils instead of drawing.
I have become very used over the years of being a happy phantom, walking through town and stopping sometimes to drink tea, draw and write and plan. In the studio, I solidified, and the imaginative space around me collapsed. It's a strange phenomenon, but not really surprising, seeing that I've spent all my life finding hiding places to make up stories in.
So, well, I'll stay connected to the studio because it's a nice place to visit, but I'll go back to haunting London carrying sketchbooks and writing equipment, picking up lost gloves to make into hedgehogs and making up songs about pigeons, writing novels in museums and drawing a whole graphic novel in a cafe (haven't decided which cafe as yet).
I'll be officially visible only in the mornings and evenings again.
I'm a bit sad to dump the studio, especially since it's such a nice one, but mostly I'm relieved.
Oh, and mentioning gloves, I bought some red gloves: