Co-Published: BeYourArt.com and The North Shoreian Magazine, The Christmas Issue, Volume 1, Issue 12, Practicalities of the Surviving Artist, December 2008. Written by D.T. Arcieri.

D.T. Arcieri with his Underwood #5 typewriter (circa 1910)

I had been writing successfully for at least five years when I came up with the idea. And by successfully I mean that my one-act plays had been produced at nice, albeit small, venues in the City and here on the Island. They were all good little shows that, of course, made no money. Which was fine with me because I just wanted to do quality work. And I think I was. But then I thought maybe I could do better if I had… a studio.

Writing at home and at work was full of hazardous distractions. Things like, say, refrigerators and telephones and televisions and cats. And actual responsibilities, both familial and professional. They got in the way, too. Not to mention people: colleagues, family, friends, strangers, whoever. Distractions! All of them! Keeping me from doing the best I could to write that brilliant play, that full length play, the one I needed to win that Pulitzer prize.

Yes! I needed some privacy, some isolation. A place to focus. To concentrate.  To write. I needed a creative environment full of cool artsy stuff like an antique typewriter on a chipped and pitted desk; a vintage black & white art museum poster of Georgia O’Keeffe nude; Bach or Kid Rock playing in the background; a string of red chili pepper Christmas lights glowing on the wall; a stick of nag champa burning in front of the plastic Buddha I bought at the flea market that summer. I needed an environment that caressed all my senses gently, putting me in zone. The writing zone.

That’s what I needed – a studio. But how could I get one? I had too many bills already. I didn’t need another nut to crack every month. Hell, I was broke. And then it hit me, a brilliant idea – I would run an ad in a local newspaper. The ad would say this: “Playwright needs creative space in house boat, barn loft or beautiful cottage. Can pay $100 a month”. That was it – I would tell the truth. Brilliant! I wanted everything, but would pay hardly anything. Naïve? Maybe. Arrogant? Absolutely!

So I ran my ad and waited for my phone to ring. It did – five or six times. A couple of respondents didn’t seem to understand that I would pay hardly anything. A couple of respondents didn’t seem understand that I wanted everything. But then there was Ray. He was a nice old gentleman who told me about his barn loft. It sounded great. He asked to meet me at a local diner. I said sure, and brought a pile of play bills and reviews to demonstrate the sincerity with which I embraced my craft. But when we sat down he didn’t care to look at my impressive collection of theatre credentials. He was really just concerned that I was a good and honest person. So instead of talking about my experiences as a playwright, I found myself talking about my Dad who was a Marine combat veteran and retired police officer, about how I had gone to Catholic school and sang Latin Mass in the choir, about my honorable career as a boy scout, and about, well, all kinds of things I had no idea was going to talk about.

But I understood where he was coming from. I would be a tenant on his property, often when he and his wife were in Florida. He wanted a person he trusted. I was to be presence at his home that would dissuade possible intruders while he was away. I was to be a passive type of sentry. All he really wanted was little things like tire tracks in the snow on his driveway and a quick look around the property.

Well, I give him that, and $100 a month, for a loft in his rustic old barn. I’ve made it into a beautiful creative space: a cross between a club house and a temple. It has no television, refrigerator or internet. But it does have an old typewriter and a nude O’Keeffe. The incense burns, the music plays and I stay focused.  Since I’ve been there I’ve written four full length plays and two one-acts, and seen productions in New York, Florida and Los Angeles.

That was it. That was my brilliant idea that got me a studio. But hey, I didn’t copyright it. So help yourself.

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1. Art Notes: The Brilliant Idea That Got Me a Studio
2. Home Music Studio for Under $300
3. Success in Art Through Lifestyle Choices