Why You Keep Avoiding That Project (Hint: It's Your Setup, Not You)
Walk through the second floor of GoggleWorks on any given Tuesday, and you'll see something fascinating: 30 artists' studios, 30 completely different worlds. Each 200-400 square foot cube tells a story—not about what an art studio "should" look like, but about what actually happens there.
Here's the thing: Whether you're setting up an art studio, a home office, a writing nook, or just trying to make space for that guitar you swear you'll learn—most of us arrange our spaces backwards. We Pinterest our way into pretty corners that photograph well but don't actually support what we do - or we just go with the default of setting things down without a plan. But there's a better way that actually makes life easier.
When you're starting out, it's natural to create your idea of what a creative space should be. At the beginning of any journey, you don't quite know where it's going to take you. The shortcut to avoiding wasted time and money? Stop decorating and start observing. Your space should be a physical map of your actual practice—not your fantasy of it.
Let me show you how I learned this the awkward way, and how you can skip straight to the part where your space actually works. (And yes, this applies even if your "studio" is a corner of your dining table. Especially then.)
It doesn’t have to look pretty-
But what if you made it easy?
Why Your Instagram-Worthy Setup Might Be Sabotaging You
When I first moved into my studio at GoggleWorks, I was so excited to make it "look like an artist's studio." You know the vibe—desk positioned diagonally under the window for optimal light drama, colorful rug anchoring the space, plants cascading from every surface, supplies organized by color in mason jars. It was adorable. It was also completely wrong for me.
Here's how I had divided my space: 50% set up for painting (easels, canvas storage, paint station), 10% for kitchen and snacks, 10% for business and paperwork, and 30% just... storage. Storage of art supplies I might use someday. Storage of things that looked artsy. Stuff that was stifling my potential and clogging up my creative flow everytime I looked at it.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the community ceramics studio, I was spending 80% of my actual art-making time. But my personal studio? Set up for a painter. Because that's what I thought an artist's studio should look like.
The disconnect between how our spaces look and how we actually work costs us more than we realize. Every time you have to clear the dining table to work on your project, every time you can't find your tools because they're stored "neatly" instead of accessibly, every time you avoid creating because the setup feels like too much work—that's your space working against you instead of with you.
The Reality Check That Changed Everything
It took me months of working around my pretty studio instead of in it before the lightbulb went off. I work with ceramics. Like, a LOT. Way more than I paint these days. So why was my personal studio completely set up for painting?
Sure, I do my wheel throwing in the community studio (much easier to take advantage of the top-notch wheels, kilns, tools and studio glazes), but there's so much ceramic work that isn't messy. Polishing the bottoms of finished pieces. Drawing detailed designs with underglaze pencils. Planning glazing patterns. All quiet, clean work that I could be doing in my own space.
Here's what really got me: I love the energy of the community studio—the creative buzz, the spontaneous conversations, the shared excitement when someone opens a kiln. But (where my introverts at??) I also desperately need quiet time to process. Time to work without taking in sounds, energies, conversations I didn't ask for. My nervous system needs both the collective creative energy AND the solo recharge time.
Once I saw my space as a physical representation of my actual practice—not my idealized version of it—everything shifted. I started tracking what I actually did, when I did it, and what I needed nearby. Turns out, I needed less painting station and more surfaces for ceramic work. Less storage of "someday supplies" and more active workspace.
Take a close look -
What is the main activity done in the space? Start there.
Your Space Audit: Becoming a Detective of Your Own Practice
Ready to stop fighting your space and start working with it? Here's how to audit your current set up - and make a few key changes for your best flow:
Week 1: The Reality Check Don't change anything yet. Just observe. Keep a tiny notebook or use your phone to track:
What activities do you actually do in the space? (Not what you plan to do, what you ACTUALLY do, or want to be doing)
Where do you naturally gravitate to work? (natural light, cozy chairs, large flat surfaces)
What do you constantly have to move or work around?
What points of friction slow you down or take extra time to deal with?
What tools do you reach for most?
When do you feel most creative—and what does your space need during those times?
Week 2: The Pattern Recognition Look at your notes. You'll start seeing patterns:
That corner you never use? There's a reason.
Those supplies you constantly dig for? They need a new home.
That table you always clear off? It wants to be your workspace.
When it feels foggy or unclear, go to the numbers. Data creates clarity. Map out percentages like I did. If you spend 60% of your time sketching but only 10% of your space supports it, there's your problem.
Week 3: The Remix Now—and only now—start moving things. But here's the key: Don't aim for pretty. Aim for flow. Put your most-used tools within arm's reach of where you actually work. Create zones based on activities, not aesthetics.
Test drive each change for a few days before committing. Your space should feel like a favorite sweatshirt—maybe not runway-ready, but exactly right for you. You can always spruce up aesthetics once you have a working space.
The Plot Twist: This Isn't Just About Art
Here's the thing—this isn't just about art studios. Starting a new practice at home? Want to journal, meditate, exercise, learn guitar, write your novel, run your side hustle? The same principles apply.
Your environment is either your accomplice or your adversary. That guitar in the back of the closet? Move it next to where you drink your morning coffee. Want to journal? Stop trying to create a perfect writing nook and put a notebook where you actually sit and think. Running a business from your laptop? Stop working from bed and claim that corner where you naturally gravitate.
The magic happens when your space says "yes" instead of "someday." (James Clear talks about this in Atomic Habits—making the good habits obvious and the bad habits invisible. Your space is your best accountability partner.)
The Basement Studio Revolution (Or: Why I'm Ignoring All the "Proper" Setup Advice)
And now? I'm taking this whole philosophy to my basement ceramic studio. You should see the pottery studio setup guides online—industrial shelving units, bright white spaces, elaborate glazing stations, with jars in every color of the rainbow. Very impressive. Very professional. Very much designed for someone making large vessels and production pottery.
But I make smaller, delicate pieces. I work in small batches with porcelain, not stoneware. I spend way more time on surface decoration than most potters because that's what lights me up. So why would I set up my basement like I'm running a production pottery?
Instead, I'm designing it around MY practice. One small wedging station. Two wheels, one for throwing and one for trimming and finishing. And here's the kicker—I'm creating a portable decorating station that I can bring upstairs.
Why? Because spending four hours drawing intricate designs in a basement feels like punishment. But doing it in my sunny office with tea and music? Or the porch, on a nice day? That's sustainable. That's joyful. That's motivating - so the decorating won't just pile up, it's actually going to happen.
The "proper" setup would have everything in one zone for efficiency. But my actual practice says: messy work in the basement, detailed work where I want to be. Is the best way, the "correct" way? Not at all. But I know myself, and it's going to work for me.
Summary
Your creative space should be a working portrait of you, of your actual practice—not a still life of your aspirations. When you stop arranging for appearances and start organizing for action, something shifts. The resistance drops. The work flows. You spend more time creating and less time fighting your environment. Let your environment power you, not drain you.
The permission slip you've been waiting for: Design your space for YOUR work, not someone else's. Hate standing? Create seated workstations. Work in bursts? Set up for quick starts. Need beauty to think? Add it where you actually work, not where it photographs well. Your space, your rules.
Quick Win: Remove three things from your workspace that you haven't touched in a month. Don't organize them, don't find them a "home"—just get them out of your active zone. Creating clarity is the first step to creating anything.
Solid Solution: Do the full three-week space audit and remix your area based on real data, not pretty pictures.
Treat Yourself: Once you’ve figured out the set up, buy one new tool for organizing, or a new chair or pillow to get your work done easier and more comfortably.
Oh yeah - that studio evolution I mentioned in the beginning? Led to more time in my space, more visitors stopping by, more sales, AND more creative satisfaction. Turns out, when your space actually works for you, you want to be there, actually getting into action. Even if "there" means carrying your work upstairs because basements are overrated. Who knew?
Thank you for taking a little time for yourself today, to think about setting up for a smoother future. Let me know how it goes!
With Enthusiasm for Life + Art,