One of our dear neighbors has a "man cave" in the back yard, a combination car port, work shop, and grilling patio. It is his retreat, where he can drink his beer, entertain friends and family, or tinker with his cars and bike. A fifty something Studebaker sits out there under wraps awaiting his promised attention. It is difficult for me to imagine Ed without thinking of his special space.
One of the many blessings in my life has been the good fortune to always (well, almost always) have that special place for myself regardless of where I was living. On the farm in Maryland, before our trek to Paducah, it was a very spacious studio in the rear of one of barns, an unpretentious 35x100 foot cinder block pig barn. The space was large enough for me to pursue a life long interest in model trains with a 15x15' layout, something I had to sadly abandon with the move to KY. Before that my studio was a very tiny space I rented in a friends home that had its own entrance from the street in a lovely urban neighborhood in Wilmington Delaware.
It is only recently that I began to think of my studio as my "man cave". Experiencing the inevitable ebb and flow of creative ambition, I find myself spending more time not making art than I do making it, reading, napping (Oh how I wish I had room for the old sofa that was in the Maryland studio!), writing, on my laptop, or just plain day dreaming and listening to music. I probably spend at least 75% of my waking hours in the studio; I'm in there 7 days a week. My friends consider me a very prolific artist, but I don't agree. I create a lot of work because I'm always in the studio, even though much of the time is spent doing whatever.
I wish I had room for my trains.
