When Dave first gave me directions to the studio he said, “We are the big yellow building on the right on Bruce Street. The building is marked with a sign that says WOODWORKING or something like that.”
She was easy enough to find with her worn yellow paint, standing amid various cars in transition and free-range weeds. Cosmetically neglected, she juts and pops with additions and subtractions. A product of function over form, she is a visual history of tenants come and gone and all have left their mark on her bones.
I can see how easily she could be written off, but anyone who spends as much time as me pondering the inner workings of the world would know this… as with any absolute being, her heart is tucked on the inside. This is a place where art is born.
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