Artists often talk about their studios, the space, often revered, where they work. Their art comes to being in this space and it seems to be a space where they feel closest to their authentic Self.
I don't have such a space. I never have; the closest I've ever had was the studio space I shared with the other art students at my college. I had a corner, in the back, with an easel or two and a stool and a chair. To me, this was almost a sacred space...
I've since graduated, of course, and have been relegated to snatching space wherever I can find it: in the kitchen, in a corner of my basement room. I long for a dedicated studio space, especially during those times when my thoughts are most scattered and very little is getting accomplished, when I feel ready to drown in the sea of emotional stuff that surrounds me, in other words, the times when I most need to immerse myself in my work.
I envy artists who produce in weeks the amount of paintings I do in a year.
I have yet to figure out the space in which I work best, but I am grateful for the chances I get to do the work of my deepest self.