I loved my Sherman Street studio. Not big but It had grit. I even miss its lousy fluorescent lighting From the east windows I could see the distant smokestacks of the steel foundries. The people who rented beside me were the Spanish Alcoholics Anonymous. Every Thursday night they held a meeting. Occasionally I would hear the ringing of a bell, a longish pause, and then laughter and the sound of clapping. If I met one of them in the hall, he’d be smiling broadly and holding a can of coca cola. We’d nod to one another.
My studio didn’t have water When it came time for me to cast I had to rig up a long hose from tubs in the basement to a big pail on wheels in the hall way of the first floor where my studio was. If I needed help I would nab who ever was close at hand.