The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1904-09-11

Studio life is becoming more and more
popular In New York. said a woman who
lives in studio. you have only to lool
at the signs Of offices, lofts and studios fol
rent on the new downtown buildings, to
see that; and there is no good and sufficient
reason why 1t shouldn't be 80.
-The time has gone by when the man
or the woman who chooses to pass his oil
her days In one or two rooms in more oil
less public building is classed with the
bohemian Of the long hair, large necktie
and velveteen jacket Too many dis
tinguished artists and writer's have become
addicted to the life for that.
'One reason for the liking for studios
is that the artistic temperament is peculiar
Notably convivial upon the occasion Of an
incidental spasm of work, solitude is abso-
Mtely necessary to the artist. There must
be four walls, within which it is possible to
shut himself, locking out all intruders, a
spot, all his own-until rent day comes
around, that is.
1T is hardly necessary to remark that
few artists or writer's could call an entire
fiat their own over rent day. Hence, the
studio.
Another reason. Many OF these strange
creatures-no, wasn't going to say have
antenne-possess weakness for gathering
together odd bits OF furniture and bric-a-
brac, curios, urns, vases often in reality for
the pawn shop, alas! but, until times Of dire
necessity their very own. In other words,
they desire to live in place every stick
OF whose furniture, except that still unpaid
for, 10 among their personal possessions.
Again, the one room Of a studio suff1ces.
A fat with furniture too scattered 10 TN
beautiful.
-There are other reasons, but these are
enough. More than enough, since those
who have become sufficiently emancipated
to inhabit studios scorn to give reasons.
Whatever may be said Of the male studio,
the studio feminine is the natural conse-
quenoe Of the emancipation Of woman, the
habitat Of the bachelor girl.
The New York studio, with its cleo
tr.oity and gas, its telephones. hard wood
or stone floors and bath, is far ahead OF
the studio OF the Latin Quarter, with its
dingy skylight, it's rough board floor, its
candles or lamps, and its tiny stove, ap-
parently upon the verge of being drawn
up through the roof by the exaggerated
length OF its emaciated stovepipe; but there
are few little things still to be invented
before life in the New York studio even
becomes altogether perfect.
First, odorless things to eat.
In Paris studio building, unless your
olfaotory nerves are seriously out OF order,
you Ascertain at once upon entering the
hall what each artist IL to have for supper
Not % In New York, and partly for this
reason:
In this great successful city be 1t
known, there are artists and writer's and
srtists and writer's. An artist Of worldwide
renown, who pays q small fortune for his
studio, may live next door to one who
doesn't pay for his at all II he can help It.
And the same with writer's.
What, then, does the great artist or
writer do should the foil odor OF bacon
greet his amazed nostrils early some fine
morning, ernanating from the door ohinks
Of tho artist or writer who finds 1t DO Diff
hcult to stave OF his landlord Reports
him. Of course; complains to the janitor;
and II you have ever lived In fat or studio
you know what that means
As matter Of fact, you rent your studio
with every intention Of taking your meals
out somewhere. That is the one reason,
maybe, that you have rented ft-so that no
housekeeping may interfere with your
great work In life; your masterpiece, the
picture, or the book.
EFT "a all very we'll for q man to break
fast day In and day out at cafes, then dine
there, too, but for q womanl Well. 1t Is
no life at all.
'Shs must get up the first thing in the