My studio is a room that leads to a seemingly infinite number of other rooms. I enter these other rooms by stepping into portals made of canvas and wood, never knowing what kind of room I’ll find myself in and seldom meeting the people who live there. I take the liberty anyway of rummaging through their belongings, drinking their beer, and staring out their windows. The people who occupy the rooms I visit typically appear to be loners whose solitude enables their strange obsessions. They collect things, build things, and futz around as if what they’re doing really matters–apparently for an audience of no one but themselves. It’s easy to linger in these rooms far too long without realizing it. I’ve stepped into the portals on beautiful spring days and stepped back out to find the trees outside my studio window completely bare–whole seasons of my life down the drain. I know the rooms I visit aren’t real. But sometimes they’re so real, my life feels like the thing I dreamt up.
Joey Borovicka is a painter living in Springfield, Missouri. His work has shown in solo and group shows throughout the Midwest and appeared in the publication New American Paintings in 2010 and 2013.