Studio spaces come in all shapes and sizes, from the home studios in the corner of an artist’s one-bedroom apartment to the palatial. Some choose to kit them out like a place of work, some as an extension of their homes, and others like a place of worship.

The history of the artist studio is a long one. For hundreds of years, from the Middle Ages through the Renaissance, artists would work in their workshop. They would have earned the right to run their own workshop when they became a “master,” a rank title given to artists who had produced a suitable “masterpiece” for their guild.

There have been some particularly famous studios along the way, more recently. Andy Warhol’s Factory may be the most famous: a silver-foil covered Manhattan factory in which teams of assistants helped to churn out Warhol’s prints, where raucous celeb-filled parties were held, where films were shot, and where Warhol himself was shot, too. In contrast, Giacometti worked out of a 300-square-foot studio in the 14th arrondissement in Paris, with terrible lighting and without running water.

Studio spaces are often part of an artist’s homes; among the most famous may be Georgia O’Keeffe’s 5,000-square-foot home and studio in Abiguiú, New Mexico, which the artist purchased from the Catholic church in 1945 and restored from a ruin. It is flooded with O’Keeffe fans each year as part of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. Victorian painter George Frederic Watts built himself an entire “village” in which to live and work.

This year, we’ve chatted to some of contemporary art’s most exciting rising stars, asking them about their studio spaces, from their most memorable (not necessarily in a good way) to their ultimate favorites.

Vicky Colombet: Large But Cold (and Wet)

Vicky Colombet in her studio, 2024. Courtesy of the artist and Fernberger.

In the early 90’s I had a large studio in Barcelona with no heat, and did very large paintings there. And then a large studio in the south of France with no heat and the rain leaking in where I did large and small paintings.

Now I have a very small studio in the city and a larger one in the country. They are complementary. I would define the small studio as a thinking place, where I can slow down and draw, and paint small, intimate paintings. I feel more contained and safer, the walls are close. My imagination pushes through the walls.

In my larger studio, there is action. I feel the speed, the space that invites movement and allows larger paintings and bigger projects. But I am still pushing through the walls. Never big enough.

Giulia Cenci: Old Stable Boxes

Giulia Cenci in front of her installation Secondary Forest (2024). A High Line Commission. On view March 2024- February 2025. Photo: Liz Ligon Courtesy of Friends of the High Line.

Over the past few years, I’ve produced most of the demanding works in the studio in Tuscany. It is an old stable in Cortona’s countryside, near the border with Umbria. The studio’s structure is organized by its original purpose as a stable and is divided by “boxes”—low walls dividing four identical spaces where the animals once lived. Each of these spaces has a door to the outside, but I created a few passages to cross them all from the inside, making it more practical. I love to use these spaces as a mental separation, each with a specific use.

The first box is the main entrance, where the office is located. Here I work on the projects, research, and collect elements. I share this space with an assistant. The first box is connected to the second, where I arrange and assemble the works in their very first origins. After sketching, I move the work into the third space, which acts as a metal and wood workshop. Here we define and stabilize the work to make it real. The fourth room is a transitional space that serves as a showroom area to see the finished work, pack it, make crates, and prepare it for shipping.

Outside the studio is even more alive: we have a small wooden aluminum foundry where we melt mostly car scrap to make sculptures. This area is divided by uses as we mostly work with brackets to make molds before turning on the oven. It is self-made and follows our own rules and timeframes, but what I love is that the work is entirely made by our hands. The outdoor area can be extremely challenging when trying to make bigger works, but when we see the work’s relation with the rural landscape, we always get a new point of view.

Eamon Ore-Giron: Performance Space 

Eamon Ore-Giron in his studio. Courtesy of the artist and James Cohan Gallery. Photo by Emiliano Granado.

My studio is spread across two spaces on separate floors, one is where I sketch, read, and think; the other is where I paint. It’s in the middle of downtown L.A. in a building with tall ceilings and a nice fire escape where I like to sit and watch the street action. I’ve been here for a long time so I’ve seen a lot of changes.

Back in the mid-aughts, I shared one of the floors with a group of really great artists. We would have shows and interesting performances by groups like Extended Organ, Mike Kelley, and Paul McCarthy’s band. Other studios I’ve had in the past felt impermanent, this place feels like home. I also really like how close it is to where I live. It’s very centrally located, which in L.A. is a plus.

Megan Rooney: Best of Both Worlds Across London

Megan Rooney in front of Echoes & Hours (2024) in situ mural at Kettle’s Yard, Cambridge. Photo: Camilla Greenwell, courtesy the
artist.

[At the King’s Cross studio] the light is incredible, as it pours in from all sides and this has hugely impacted the way I work as my paintings have their own unique ecosystems and sort of act as weathervanes or barometers.

I always paint from a position of motion, so I like to run to Vauxhall where my other studio is. I collect images and weather temperatures (wind, rain, sun, heat) so in a way I’m already painting before I arrive. As these images and impressions lodge in my memory bank and spill out when I’m faced with a blank surface.

Just a short five-minute walk away [from the Vauxhall studio], you get a good bit of London where the original fruit and vegetable or flower market is. The place is buzzing with activity and color. I wander around and look at enormous containers brimming with bright orange carrots; the next one is full of pale green cabbages or electric lemons and so on. In a way, it’s like walking through a colossal painting. So I go there almost every day, drink a coffee with the food packers, and steal some images for my memory bank.

Edward Holland: Home is Where The Art Is 

Edward Holland in his studio. Courtesy of the artist.

My studio is tiny. It’s in my Upper East Side apartment. The only time I ever had a studio outside of my apartment was when I was in grad school. Over the years the size and location of it has shifted in my home as my needs have changed. I have two kids now and their workspaces are in the same room as my studio, so we sort of share it together. All my brushes and paints, collage elements, and reference books are on these shelves next to my desk. I have a rolling cart, which is right here underneath the desk, that’s all full of more papers and collage stuff. It’s a Spartan setup, but it’s functional. It’s not one of those big, beautiful, opulent, grand studios that people have. But maybe one day it’d be nice to have everything out in a big mess.

Lauren Quin: Gardening for Beginners

Lauren Quin in her L.A. studio, accompanied by her dog.

My studio is in a large building in Los Angeles, right at the edge of West Adams and Culver City. It was previously a nursery for trees and cacti, so it has lots of skylights and fresh air. Over time, I’ve put in a shower and built out a little apartment area, but I’d still call it glamping. The first thing you see when you enter is the garden. There are six massive palm trees that are dropping dates all year long and at least ten fig trees, plus vines and a handful of Plumerias.

I have never had a green thumb, but they hardly need me. I am floored by how fast they grow. I can’t keep up with them. By the time I come home from New York, there will be piles of figs in the driveway. Naturally there’s fauna that shows up for all the flora too. I’ve had hummingbirds trapped in skylights and large lizards chilling out behind paintings. Thankfully, my dog chases away anything larger.

Enrique Martinez Celaya: Monastery x Laboratory

Enrique Martínez Celaya with work for his exhibition at the Hispanic Society Museum and Library, New York. Image courtesy the artist. Image courtesy the artist.

My studio is in Jefferson Park, a neighborhood located a few miles southwest of downtown Los Angeles, which is an area of industrial warehouses, small commercial buildings, and Arts & Crafts bungalows. My building is a large space with good light and tall ceilings originally built in the 1950s for manufacturing. I re-modeled it to support the way I work, including planting trees and a garden, and building a library.

I’ve enjoyed designing and re-modeling all my studios, and in this one I incorporated many of the lessons from things that succeeded and failed before. I want the studio to resist comfort and support working, thinking, and also silence, so it has the combined feeling of a workspace, a monastery, and a laboratory.

Cindy Phenix: Palatial Beauty

Cindy Phenix. Courtesy of the artist and Nino Mier.

My studio [for the duration of the Palazzo Monti residency] is on the top floor of Palazzo Monti. It is bright with two balconies, a gray-and-pink painted wood ceiling, and a beautiful marble fireplace with a metal plate carved with angels. I often pause to look at the view. I see the greenery of the trees, a mountain with a castle, a variety of terracotta palettes applied to the buildings’ walls, and so many wild white flowers growing between the clay tiles of the roofs.

At the center of it all, close to my window, I see an old rusty chimney with six steps and a pinecone installed at the top of it. I am absolutely obsessed with this artifact. It is such a beautiful and elegant detail.