Creative Spaces - All About The Vibe
There’s a quiet kind of fatigue that creeps in when you’re always creating from the same corner of the world.
For me, it was The Observatory—my main house studio. A spare bedroom, modest and functional, where I edit videos, plan projects, and, when there’s space for it, paint. It’s the nerve center of Warth Studios. Everything runs through it. And yet, over time, it began to feel more like a cubicle with brushes than a place to lose myself in oil and light.
Painting became a task. A checkbox. Something I had to do if I wanted to feel like an artist that week.
But I didn’t quit. I painted, worked, showed up, edited, wrote, and did the things I wanted to do.
I’m proud of that, and yet, something vital—something unnameable—had gone missing.
The Dream of Warth Studios
One of the things I’ve done to stay grounded over the years is name my creative spaces. I don’t mean metaphorically—I mean literally name them. Each with its own function, vibe, and place in the cycle of my creative life.
The Observatory – my main house studio: digital, focused, steady. Right now, this is a spare bedroom, but it works. Wherever I live, and even if I ever have a public space, will always have the “Observatory” at home.
The Sanctuary – the attic studio: filled with history, memory, and seasonal solitude. I love this space, it’s part hangout, smoking lounge, and rustic space with a unique vibe.
The Reverie – the outdoor/garage workspace: mobile, minimal, moonlit. This is the back deck, a patio, the front lawn, someplace near the edge of the woods out back, or simply inside the garage with the garage door open while I watch the storms and enjoy night time breeze. (in fact, I’m in this space now, smoking a cigar and having a Rusty Nail at 1:45am while I write this post on my MacBook Pro sitting on a TV tray)
The Winchester – the dream of a public space, where art, story, and community meet over a drink or a conversation. For those who know me well, we all know the reason for calling it “The Winchester”.
Giving them names helped me see them differently—not just as rooms or zones, but as extensions of my creative self. But even with that awareness, I was stuck. I didn’t and often don’t always feel energized to paint when I had/have the time to do it.
Until I built The Reverie — the whole point of this post and the inspiration to share my quirky naming ideas.
The Return of Light and Air
One night, belly full of spaghetti and fueled by some mix of cinematic nostalgia and good Guinness, I walked into the garage. I moved a few things around. Set up a light. Pulled out a chair. Set an easel in front of my truck.
And then something clicked.
The garage—cool from the trees and earth around it—offered me something the Observatory couldn’t: space. Air. Possibility.
I wasn’t locked into a room. I was standing at the edge of the world with my brush in hand.
With a single Amaran 200d light bounced off the garage door, open in the overhead position, I mimicked north light with total control. Add a pedestal fan, a table, and my palette—and suddenly, I had everything I needed.
Nothing special, just a light bounced off the white garage door overhead, a camping chair and an old easel in the garage for those cool evenings © Michael Warth
The Reverie was born.
The Power of Claiming Space
What I realized is this:
Creative energy isn’t just about discipline or time management. It’s about where you put your body.
I had lost the instinct to chase the light.
I’d forgotten that painting used to feel like an adventure.
But here’s the good news: you don’t need a new building or a perfect setup to get it back.
You just need to claim your space—whatever and wherever it is.
Clear a corner. Pull a chair into the garage. Light your subject like it’s a scene from a film.
Give it a name.
Own it.
The Energy Is Back
Now, when I come home from work at 1:30 a.m., I don’t have to fight the pressure of the Observatory. I don’t have to wait for cooler temperatures in The Sanctuary. I step into The Reverie—and I paint.
It’s not a perfect studio. It’s not supposed to be.
It’s just mine.
And that’s enough.
Moreover, if the Observatory or any other space fits the vibe, I can work there. Trivial, perhaps, but the change of space helps me. I don’t want my creative work to feel like a job or a chore. Heck, even a day out of the house sketching or working en plain air can be all it takes to get out of that confined feeling.
Final Thoughts
If you’re a creative who’s felt stuck lately—if your brush feels heavier, your space feels smaller, or your time feels wasted—this is my encouragement to you:
You can have more than one space. You can name them. Shape them. Adapt them to the season of life you’re in.
Your creativity deserves room to breathe.
Let it breathe.
Oh, and call it something ridiculous if you have to—“The Lair,” “The Lab,” “The Shed of Glory.” The name doesn’t matter. The claim does.
I might add, some have asked why I call my art business, “Warth Studios” rather than something like “Michael Warth Studio”, this is why. I will never simply have one space where I make art.
Now, go claim your space or spaces, and make something.
