draft resolve revise

Anna Moschovakis

I have been trying to return to half-finished writing; to writing that has been published in one iteration but which I always intended to deepen or expand; to dangerous writing that resists me and makes me squirm—which is, I tell myself, information, pointing to something that is deserving of my time, the way (I tell myself) my anxiety points toward something deserving of my care.

I meant to use this space to share a few of those texts, or parts of them, or notes toward their intended deepening or expansion—and I still intend to do that, but the time takes time, the care also takes time, so instead I will begin with these unfinished notes from yesterday, new year’s day: ten studio resolutions (with number 10 still to come).

Resolutions isn’t the right word. This, too, is a draft.


process notes

Ten Studio Resolutions

1. The studio is anywhere but it isn’t everywhere. Let yourself in when it opens its door.

2. The studio takes up space. Recognize this.

3. The studio has feelings. If you neglect it, it might neglect you back.

4. Some studios are cats and attach to place; some are dogs and attach to people; some are neither, both, or other. Know your studio and adjust your expectations accordingly.

5. Does the studio know of the existence of other studios? Unless the studio tells you, this is none of your business.

6. Be careful inviting others into the studio. It can be difficult—though it is possible—to kick them out.

7. And yet, the studio is a party. Tolerate, if you can’t celebrate, this contradiction.

8. The studio has at least four walls, a ceiling and a floor. Don’t forget to look around.

9. The air in the studio is always good. Breathe it.



not all doors are marked


sharing studio and resolution


a draft

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