Studio Living
Some of us remember a time when only financially unsuccessful artists and college students had homes consisting of only one room. Moreover, as they do today, college students were occupying dorms, not "rooms." It meant they were on track for eventually claiming their entitlement to The American Dream of The House and its extensions -- the front yard, back yard, driveway and garage. The single-room thing was a way station, not a true lifestyle. With adults of all ages now living in New York City and San Francisco studios of 300 square feet and even smaller, obviously something has changed in the social, economic and culture life of the country. Stratospheric rents have conspired with generally high living costs and environmental sensitivity to make studio apartments increasingly popular. Materialism is wisely being questioned.
My daughter and I lived in a studio for eight months. See our website about studio living. In addition to ourselves and our coonhound Posie, we were often joined by other dogs for short periods -- we are dog walkers and pet sitters.
Disaster (being burned out of our "normal size" apartment) landed us in a studio. The need for a home is immediate and compelling, and we didn’t quibble when we were offered 333 square feet on the edge of Boston.
The adventure began. How much linen would we have room for? What’s the best arrangement for the beds? Against which wall should the bureau be placed? Absolutely none of those clothes that we've been "meaning to wear." How many pet-sitting clients will see our tiny place and, with fallen face, say “oh….”
Weeks went by. We cooked, we had company, we enjoyed the coziness inherent in a studio. Thankful for a home, we fell asleep pressed against Posie or some other dog. At one time we had six dogs, which created an interesting reversal -- two humans were living in a kennel. We had a superb view – something quite important in a studio. We would have preferred being able to throw the living room mess into a back bedroom when we expected guests. But I was soon wondering why we think we need numerous rooms. We don’t, really, especially when it appears (during visits to the homes of friends) that the principal duty of rooms is to accommodate unnecessary furniture and piles of stuff. I've never seen a room devoted to a dance studio or exercise. One simply becomes accustomed to a spatial standard, as with income, below which one dreads falling. I did see a prayer room in one home. Absolutely clutter-free, candle-lit and designed in muted pinks and corals, it said much about the spirit and values of its owners.
My increasing ease with a small space (along with a little smugness about my outstanding adaptability), helped enhance my perspective about life beyond my own culture. Surely a hefty percentage of the planet’s 6-plus billion souls had never even heard of foyers, back halls, mud rooms, decks, guest rooms or even separate bedrooms. People who live in huts never have to lug anything to Goodwill, muster inclination to clean out four closets, or decide where the Christmas tree should go.
A particularly enticing thing about studio living is its kinship, if only in material similarity, with the homes of young adulthood, when one was the happiest or least the most carefree. Once an occupier of a London “bedsitter,” I was not always deliriously happy, but my down moments had nothing to do with the smallness of my home. A bed, a table and chair, a gas ring for cooking, a few dresses from which to choose for an evening out with the boyfriend – life was good. Like most people I wanted a grander home later in life. For raising a family, it's a legitimate desire. Partly, though, it's an attempt to get compensation for no longer being a young sprite. Yet an aging person seeking circumstances with compensatory value can and should do better than simply embracing material encumbrances.
That leads to the most precious gift of all about studio living. There is plainly an inherent imperative to refrain from acquiring things and it has two aspects. One is the lack of space for that cute little ceramic elephant or pretty blue glasses that someone put out on the curb. The other is that you come face to face with an important question: is my studio a place for having things, or for doing things? A creative person who has ever promised herself to produce more paintings, or devote himself to photography instead of shopping, over-eating and living an unfocused life, may find the perfect home in a studio.
We moved from our studio to a more animal-friendly place, and we do like having at least one room each. My daughter likes to fill her space with key chains, stuffed animals, tote bags commemorating agricultural fairs and other harmless kitsch of the culture. I like not having to restore my thesaurus to the bookcase every time I need table room for my coffee.
Studio living puts more disposable income in paychecks. It's great fun for proving that you can have a successful party in a small space. You can't beat it for efficiency in cleaning. The miniscule character of electronic products make technology a great fit for small places. Then there is the harmless (don't say pathetic!) illusion that being a studio dweller will make you feel twenty again. For some of us, make that forty.
