Studio playlist No, keeping my studio as quiet as possible really helps me work.
Wishlist a skylight
Studio
My studio is about 450 square feet (41.8 m2) and about a 5-minute drive or 10-minute bike ride from my house. It is in an old mill building in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, with individual studios shared by 30 or so artists. I love how close it is to my house, the light, and how quiet it is. I love being surrounded by my past work, thinking about what I will make in the future, and focusing on what I am making now.
I have an old tree in a pot that belonged to my grandmother, which now lives in the studio. After she died, it grew so tall that I had to lop off the top because it was hitting the ceiling. I replanted this part, and now it has roots and is healthy and growing. This idea of regeneration and the inherent ability of nature to promote healing is central to my work. The studio is an ecosystem where things come into the world, into being, die, and change. I try to get out of the way as much as possible and let the objects make themselves. I believe in art as a living thing, and I view the studio as a kind of birthing room. For this reason, I try to keep the environment quiet, which helps me to be sensitive to various energies that may be present, or want to come alive.
As far as equipment and tools, I keep things pretty sparse. That really helps me think through current projects as I lay stuff out on the table, floor, and walls. I am running out of space to hang completed work, which is becoming a problem. I love having an idyllic space to work in, but ultimately, my best studio has always been wherever I am currently. No studio is perfect, and I find that if I am able to just focus on the work I am making, whatever problem I have with the space becomes insignificant. I would love to get a kiln soon. For the past few years, I have been transporting my work up and down three flights of stairs and driving 15 minutes to Providence College to fire it. It’s not a perfect system, but I do the best I can with the resources I have.
On sustainability, I bike to my studio as much as I can and try to pack my kilns as full as possible. I understand that artmaking is inherently wasteful, so I try to find the balance between working through ideas and being very intentional with each piece and with the materials used.
Visiting the Paris studio of Constantin Brancusi had a big influence on me. Seeing what was left behind by somebody totally wrapped up in what he was doing, and the specificity of his exploration, was exciting. On the same note, every studio I have been in, particularly visiting my friends and mentors while a student at CU Boulder and UMass Dartmouth, has inspired me to unapologetically create my own world. I have spent time at various Buddhist centers and love the way their meditation halls feel; the energy in those spaces has been a guiding principle in the way I set things up and work. In my studio process, I am reflecting on the nature of self, examining my thoughts, and trying to bring presence into what I am making.
Paying Dues (and Bills)
I took classes at Yavapai Community College in Prescott, Arizona; then received a post-baccalaureate degree at UMass Dartmouth; then an MFA at CU Boulder. Before that, I received a degree in holistic health at Prescott College in Arizona. I am an assistant professor of studio art at Providence College in Rhode Island. I am lucky to have worked with several generous mentors in all these places who believed in the validity of my practice and encouraged me to keep going.
I usually work in the studio for a few hours in the morning and teach in the afternoons. I prioritize consistency in my daily routine over marathon workdays. Recently, I have been ringing a bell when I enter the studio and before I leave. It reminds me I am entering a non-ordinary place and then re-entering the world when leaving. Other than that, I don’t have a specific routine. I usually have a few art books around or poetry, and sometimes I take a break and read or meditate; but generally, when I am in my studio I get right to work. If I don’t know what to do, I start cleaning something. Drawing has always been an important part of my process and could happen anywhere; in my studio, at the kitchen table with my daughter, or in bed. All my work has grown out of a feverish drawing practice I began when I was a teenager.
Marketing
Headstone Gallery (www.headstonegalleryny.com) in Kingston, New York, represents my work. I try to be responsive and honest with anyone who has an interest in my work. I don’t think too much about marketing and don’t have a great intuition for it. When I think about what I want to make next, I sometimes reflect on what has sold in the past or what people seem to be interested in on social media. But that kind of thinking seems to get in the way of what needs to be made next, what is bubbling up to the surface. I attach myself to the images that compel me, and the work grows from there. I think it is important to view art as coming from the inside out, even if I am reflecting on the world outside me. Meaningful art originates from a rich inner world.
The gallery connections I have formed have all grown out of friendships, through showing up to local arts events, making connections and inviting collectors, curators, writers, and other artists for studio visits. It may sound fantastical, but the truth is my deepest connections have come through making my work and letting it guide me. The beauty of connecting with people through my art is that those relationships are growing out of the most genuine part of me and this makes them meaningful. These friendships help my work evolve. Headstone Gallery shows my sculpture on their website and social media, and they work hard to express the importance of my practice. They believe in me, and I respect their aesthetic, expertise, ethics, and their programming—we love each other and there is power in that.
Mind
I am currently reading the Satipatthana Sutta, an ancient Buddhist discourse; lots of Allen Ginsburg poems; and a book about internal family systems, a psychotherapeutic modality. Anything by Murakami usually puts me in the right mindset to go to the studio. I try to make it to New York City and walk around the galleries in Chelsea, Tribeca, etc., whenever I can, and get excited about all the diversity in approaches to contemporary art. Any museum is typically very nourishing to me. Seeing the Philip Guston retrospective at the Louisiana Art Museum in Copenhagen, Denmark, and the Maurizio Cattelan retrospective at the Guggenheim in New York, New York, were two particularly memorable shows that continue to fuel me. When I see my friends’ work in Providence, Rhode Island, I get pumped to head back to the studio.
Being outside in nature is how I recharge: walking, swimming, biking, sitting in my yard, and spending time with my family and my dog. Sitting meditation is important to my well-being and my creative cycle. I try to just keep working consistently, at least a few hours a day, and think through things as I make them. Being an artist is the privilege of my life, and I am grateful every time I walk into the studio. I believe visual art is important in shaping contemporary culture, so I take my job seriously. At the same time, teaching and the relationships in my life are also very, very important, and it’s been helpful to keep things in perspective as far as obsessing over my work. As much as I love making things, spending time with my daughter is much more important to me than being in my studio. Watching her and her friends grow up, remembering to live life, to still my mind, and to look honestly at the world around me is invaluable in itself and also becomes material to process when I am working. Having the opportunity to be in the world in this way, between action and reflection, is a true gift.
Most Important Lesson
Before I started working with ceramics, I spent a few years making large figurative paintings in acrylic. I was very excited about the new skill I was developing, and told my Zen teacher, Joko Beck. She replied, “The painting paints itself.” Remembering this helps me get into the mindset that art is something happening, rather than something I am making happen. I am a part of the process, watching the universe unfold in the studio.
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Just the Facts
Clay
B-Mix, stoneware, porcelain
Primary forming method
slabs, coiling
Primary firing temperature
cone-6 electric
Favorite surface treatment
relief, adding, carving
Favorite tools
any carving tool
Studio playlist
No, keeping my studio as quiet as possible really helps me work.
Wishlist
a skylight
Studio
My studio is about 450 square feet (41.8 m2) and about a 5-minute drive or 10-minute bike ride from my house. It is in an old mill building in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, with individual studios shared by 30 or so artists. I love how close it is to my house, the light, and how quiet it is. I love being surrounded by my past work, thinking about what I will make in the future, and focusing on what I am making now.
I have an old tree in a pot that belonged to my grandmother, which now lives in the studio. After she died, it grew so tall that I had to lop off the top because it was hitting the ceiling. I replanted this part, and now it has roots and is healthy and growing. This idea of regeneration and the inherent ability of nature to promote healing is central to my work. The studio is an ecosystem where things come into the world, into being, die, and change. I try to get out of the way as much as possible and let the objects make themselves. I believe in art as a living thing, and I view the studio as a kind of birthing room. For this reason, I try to keep the environment quiet, which helps me to be sensitive to various energies that may be present, or want to come alive.
As far as equipment and tools, I keep things pretty sparse. That really helps me think through current projects as I lay stuff out on the table, floor, and walls. I am running out of space to hang completed work, which is becoming a problem. I love having an idyllic space to work in, but ultimately, my best studio has always been wherever I am currently. No studio is perfect, and I find that if I am able to just focus on the work I am making, whatever problem I have with the space becomes insignificant. I would love to get a kiln soon. For the past few years, I have been transporting my work up and down three flights of stairs and driving 15 minutes to Providence College to fire it. It’s not a perfect system, but I do the best I can with the resources I have.
On sustainability, I bike to my studio as much as I can and try to pack my kilns as full as possible. I understand that artmaking is inherently wasteful, so I try to find the balance between working through ideas and being very intentional with each piece and with the materials used.
Visiting the Paris studio of Constantin Brancusi had a big influence on me. Seeing what was left behind by somebody totally wrapped up in what he was doing, and the specificity of his exploration, was exciting. On the same note, every studio I have been in, particularly visiting my friends and mentors while a student at CU Boulder and UMass Dartmouth, has inspired me to unapologetically create my own world. I have spent time at various Buddhist centers and love the way their meditation halls feel; the energy in those spaces has been a guiding principle in the way I set things up and work. In my studio process, I am reflecting on the nature of self, examining my thoughts, and trying to bring presence into what I am making.
Paying Dues (and Bills)
I took classes at Yavapai Community College in Prescott, Arizona; then received a post-baccalaureate degree at UMass Dartmouth; then an MFA at CU Boulder. Before that, I received a degree in holistic health at Prescott College in Arizona. I am an assistant professor of studio art at Providence College in Rhode Island. I am lucky to have worked with several generous mentors in all these places who believed in the validity of my practice and encouraged me to keep going.
I usually work in the studio for a few hours in the morning and teach in the afternoons. I prioritize consistency in my daily routine over marathon workdays. Recently, I have been ringing a bell when I enter the studio and before I leave. It reminds me I am entering a non-ordinary place and then re-entering the world when leaving. Other than that, I don’t have a specific routine. I usually have a few art books around or poetry, and sometimes I take a break and read or meditate; but generally, when I am in my studio I get right to work. If I don’t know what to do, I start cleaning something. Drawing has always been an important part of my process and could happen anywhere; in my studio, at the kitchen table with my daughter, or in bed. All my work has grown out of a feverish drawing practice I began when I was a teenager.
Marketing
Headstone Gallery (www.headstonegalleryny.com) in Kingston, New York, represents my work. I try to be responsive and honest with anyone who has an interest in my work. I don’t think too much about marketing and don’t have a great intuition for it. When I think about what I want to make next, I sometimes reflect on what has sold in the past or what people seem to be interested in on social media. But that kind of thinking seems to get in the way of what needs to be made next, what is bubbling up to the surface. I attach myself to the images that compel me, and the work grows from there. I think it is important to view art as coming from the inside out, even if I am reflecting on the world outside me. Meaningful art originates from a rich inner world.
The gallery connections I have formed have all grown out of friendships, through showing up to local arts events, making connections and inviting collectors, curators, writers, and other artists for studio visits. It may sound fantastical, but the truth is my deepest connections have come through making my work and letting it guide me. The beauty of connecting with people through my art is that those relationships are growing out of the most genuine part of me and this makes them meaningful. These friendships help my work evolve. Headstone Gallery shows my sculpture on their website and social media, and they work hard to express the importance of my practice. They believe in me, and I respect their aesthetic, expertise, ethics, and their programming—we love each other and there is power in that.
I am currently reading the Satipatthana Sutta, an ancient Buddhist discourse; lots of Allen Ginsburg poems; and a book about internal family systems, a psychotherapeutic modality. Anything by Murakami usually puts me in the right mindset to go to the studio. I try to make it to New York City and walk around the galleries in Chelsea, Tribeca, etc., whenever I can, and get excited about all the diversity in approaches to contemporary art. Any museum is typically very nourishing to me. Seeing the Philip Guston retrospective at the Louisiana Art Museum in Copenhagen, Denmark, and the Maurizio Cattelan retrospective at the Guggenheim in New York, New York, were two particularly memorable shows that continue to fuel me. When I see my friends’ work in Providence, Rhode Island, I get pumped to head back to the studio.
Being outside in nature is how I recharge: walking, swimming, biking, sitting in my yard, and spending time with my family and my dog. Sitting meditation is important to my well-being and my creative cycle. I try to just keep working consistently, at least a few hours a day, and think through things as I make them. Being an artist is the privilege of my life, and I am grateful every time I walk into the studio. I believe visual art is important in shaping contemporary culture, so I take my job seriously. At the same time, teaching and the relationships in my life are also very, very important, and it’s been helpful to keep things in perspective as far as obsessing over my work. As much as I love making things, spending time with my daughter is much more important to me than being in my studio. Watching her and her friends grow up, remembering to live life, to still my mind, and to look honestly at the world around me is invaluable in itself and also becomes material to process when I am working. Having the opportunity to be in the world in this way, between action and reflection, is a true gift.
Most Important Lesson
Before I started working with ceramics, I spent a few years making large figurative paintings in acrylic. I was very excited about the new skill I was developing, and told my Zen teacher, Joko Beck. She replied, “The painting paints itself.” Remembering this helps me get into the mindset that art is something happening, rather than something I am making happen. I am a part of the process, watching the universe unfold in the studio.
www.juddschiffman.com
Instagram: @juddschiffman
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