A Studio Week, Mostly Quiet

People imagine our studio as busy. It's not. It is, on most days, rather quiet, and I want to describe it because I think the quiet is the work.

Monday

Nobody speaks before ten. It isn't policy. It's habit. We arrive, put the kettle on, look at what's on the wall from Friday, and let the week settle. The first meeting is at eleven and lasts twenty minutes.

At lunch I walk to the baker's on the corner and look at the paper bags. I do this every Monday, and I would be hard pressed to explain why. It helps.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Making days. The studio fills with the sound of tape and paper. Proofs come in from the printer in tubes, and we unroll them across the long table, weighting the corners with whatever is nearest. A stone, a cup, a heavy book about sculpture.

We try not to review work on a screen. A thing looks different printed, and quite often worse. That's useful. If the idea survives being worse, it's strong.

Thursday

Clients. Two meetings, both short. We bring a single thing to each and ask a single question. We have given up trying to cover everything. A meeting that tries to cover everything covers nothing, and a client who leaves with one clear decision to make is a happy one.

After the second meeting we walk. Round the block, then round it again. We do some of our best thinking in the second lap.

What we are not doing

• We are not checking messages all day. There's a window at noon and another at four.

• We are not holding standing meetings. We have none.

• We are not working past seven, unless a deadline is truly a deadline.

Friday

Review. We pin up everything made in the week and stand in front of it with our coats on, ready to leave. The coats are important. They keep it brisk.

We cull. Maybe a third of the week's work comes down, and nobody complains. The remainder gets a name and a date and goes into a folder. If something is still good in three weeks, it's real.

A small ritual. On Friday evenings someone turns off all the lights except the lamp over the long table, and we leave the week's work lit. When I come in on Monday, it's the first thing I see.

It's like greeting the work again as a stranger would, and nearly always something stands out that I'd stopped being able to see. That's the whole trick, if there is one. Leave, and then arrive.