Artists’ workspaces fascinate me. They hint of what goes into shaping the sacred space that is itself so integral a part of what an artist is inspired and driven to create. They allow my imagination to run wild with thoughts of how it must have felt to live and work within that space. And they make me look for similarities between what the artists included and excluded and what I include and exclude from the spaces I create and use to produce my own writing. So it is no surprise to me that visiting several ateliers in Paris proves inspirational and somewhat overwhelming even though I recognize that most of them are much different today than they were while still in use by their creator/occupants.
There are, for example, those in and near Monet’s home in Giverny. The first, which is part of the self-guided tour we follow while onsite, feels like a sacred space the moment I enter it even though Monet is obviously physically long gone and those of us tromping through it are little more than temporary visitors preceded by millions of others and, no doubt, to be followed by many more. Our presence and my awareness of myself, however, seem to fade as I walk into that gorgeous room. Mid-morning light pours through the panes in the large window and dances off the furniture collected from the period during which Monet lived and worked there. The spirit of creativity—even though one step removed by the restoration of what once existed there as a living, working space—flows from the beautifully reproduced copies of the paintings he cherished and kept on those walls while living in that home. Imagination runs wild both while I am here and later, as I look at photographs that show how the room was used for everything from an initial atelier to a reception room during a wedding—photographs that briefly capture the moment his stepdaughter/daughter-in-law and painter Blanche Hoschedé Monet sat on a sofa there in the corner, or the moment when the Monet and Hoschedé families gather there for a meal in celebration of the marriage (captured in a painting by Theodore Robinson) of Suzanne Hoschedé and Theodore Butler, in 1892. Past mingles inextricably with the present moment. And all around me, life swirls gleefully. Flourishes in moments of creativity. And will continue to exist as long as this moment remains firmly animated within my memory.
A second atelier, which has been transformed into the wonderfully expansive bookstore/boutique, is where he painted the large-scale water lilies that draw so many of us to the Musée de l’Orangerie to view them in their contemporary setting. My appreciation for it as a sacred creative space is not immediate—that only comes much later, when I am reading the copy of Un jour avec Claude Monet à Giverny that I purchase while there, and see the wonderful combination of contemporary and historical photos that further bring that space to life. It takes on even more life as I remember seeing the water lilies in the Musée de l’Orangerie. And, a week later, see more in the Musée Monet Marmottan. As I have so often observed during this visit to Paris, the entire city becomes the most engaging of classrooms. And, even more, the most engaging of ateliers in and of itself.
A few days later, the atelier visits continue when we finally stumble upon the home and refurbished atelier of Eugène Delacroix—now a small museum. There isn’t much of the sense of an active working space here; for that, I go online to find historical photographs to compare to what I presently see. But there is no denying that simply being in the space he helped create and used to produce some of his work sparks my imagination enough to make the visit worth the time it takes. And then, stepping back out from the studio and descending the steps into the garden which is such an important part of what remains, I sit, first with eyes closed, and take in the sounds and fragrances. Then, reopening my eyes, look up toward the outer wall of the atelier. Glance at the walls of the nearby buildings that shape that garden space. And, simply through the act of sitting there, feel a bit closer to the giants who preceded me and continue to exert an influence over any of us who take the time to sit or stand where they have sat or stood.
Days and walks begin melting one into another as I take what can best be called a modified flȃneur approach—not quite wandering without destination, yet never completely driven by having any single place in mind. I stand in Monet’s ateliers, gain what I can from Delacroix’s, and soon am also happily ensconced within another reconstruction: the studio of Suzanne Valadon, which now is housed in the Musée de Montmartre. The early-afternoon sun that brightens the space flows over a worktable that has palettes, brushes, and other tools suggesting the work that came out of the atelier when it was actually a living artist’s studio. The stacked canvases and standing easels almost beg to be used once again. And the reminder that an artist’s workspace is as much a creation as anything else he or she produces serves as another source of inspiration that painting and other products of the creative spirit are far from being historical artifacts—which becomes crystal clear a few nights later when we are having dinner in a friend’s apartment in Paris’s 20th arrondissement. It begins as an opportunity to spend an evening of conversation, over a wonderful homecooked meal. But immediately succumbing to memories of the visits to historical ateliers immediately makes it so much more, for this particular friend, among other things, is himself a working artist. His work adorns his walls. Brings the space to life. Suggests acts of creation completed as well as yet to come. And, most importantly, creates an unexpected bridge between the work of those who have come before us, those who currently at least in part dedicate their lives to acts of creation, and those who will, within their own ateliers, continue the tradition of expression through creative endeavors far into whatever future we all contribute to producing.
I look around my own workspace here in San Francisco as I continue recreating memories of the trip to Paris which still feels so alive, so overwhelming, so representative of eternal moments blending one into another. I think of where I’ve been and where I hope to be. Of those who take the time to read what I produce and somehow find themselves inspired/transformed for having spent some time with me. And, for this particular moment, I know that I am doing exactly what I was meant to do. And will continue doing as long as other creative spirits are there to carry me along with them.
NB: This is the eleventh in a series of reflections on traveling and learning in Paris.
Building Creative Bridges 
