A few months ago I moved into my first professional studio, which I share with two other artists. They have been friends for a long time, but I don’t see much of them because my work hours are different from theirs. One of the artists is not very respectful, she keeps leaving her things in my part of the studio (we don’t have dividing walls between us) and possibly even borrowing my tools (often things are not where I left them). She doesn’t seem to do this to the other artist. I’ve moved her things back into her space and left a couple of notes but the situation continues. I also mentioned the issue to the other artist, but she didn’t seem to want to get involved. Help! What should I do?

Tracey Emin in her studio, circa 1996.

Let’s start by assuming that a crisis is not looming; some people just don’t have the same need for rigid boundaries of space. Generally they don’t intend any disrespect, they just have different ideas of what’s appropriate. Maybe Artist A grew up in on a commune, or is from a culture that regards shared space differently than you do. Perhaps she is simply thoughtless, which is certainly not the worst crime ever to be perpetrated by a studio mate (ask me about the jackass who drunkenly urinated on a shared wall, where it soaked into a colleague’s work on the other side). In any case, clear, forthright communication will be your deliverance. Without knowing many of the finer details—like exactly what she is leaving in your space, and where, and why—it’s not easy to determine what you should convey to her, but here are some general strategies that might help.

First, it’s a good idea to figure out precisely what the offenses are and why they offend. Is your work easily damaged, and the potential for disaster is stressing you out? Are you irritated by the thought that your tools might be lost or broken and not replaced? Do you just need to have a space that feels 100 percent your own to be secure? You are entitled to set boundaries, and knowing specifically what you need and why can help you craft some language that might convince your studio partners to respect them. Just remember, they have needs too, and you might have to negotiate or come up with helpful solutions. If having a visible, inviolable physical perimeter is important to your peace of mind, you could mark areas of the studio with tape or paint on the floor, or hang a curtain (these options should be discussed with your compatriots before being enacted, or else your gesture might be read as furtive and petulant). You could also discuss mutually beneficial options: If Artist A moves her canvases into your space because there’s not enough room to work (and then forgets to put them back), then building a shared rack or rearranging the studio to make a storage space might be the answer. As for your tools, you can always buy a locking cabinet (this measure has the added benefit of helping to prevent theft in a more general sense, in the case that the studio is broken into).

I’m guessing that only the most basic details are spelled out in your lease, so it would be a good idea to craft a studio agreement that deals with issues of interpersonal space. Again, this can be accomplished only by direct communication, so try having an all-hands in-person meeting, and then sending out an email with the details of what you agreed upon.

While we’re on the subject of talking face to face, perhaps you could schedule periodic studio meetings, since normally you are in the studio according to different schedules. A monthly meeting will give everyone a chance to share issues, propose changes, etc. Think of it as a regular studio visit, a chance to bond with your studio mates and talk about what you’re working on. Having a regular meeting will keep any bad feelings from building up, and provide an opportunity to reinforce your friendships and social connection, which will do wonders for the esprit de corps.

As a means of conflict resolution, leaving a note rarely has the desired effect because the attitude that underlies it is indirect and non-cooperative, and obliquely asking Artist B to intervene is not mature behavior. If you want to solve this problem, you’re going to have to sit down with Artist A (and B if possible) and spell out the terms of what you need. Be prepared to ask questions, and be willing to listen to the answers. Healthy relationships are not conflict-avoidant; start over with a different frame of mind, and approach the situation as a problem-solving collaboration. Don’t lose sight of the ultimate goal, which is for all of you to have a great place—physically and emotionally—to make your work. Good luck!

Got an art-related dilemma? Submit your question anonymously here.

Entang Wiharso. Never Give Up, 2015; Aluminium sheet, laser cut, graphite, Saunders paper 638g; 165.5 × 116 × 3 cm. Courtesy of Singapore Tyler Print Institute.

Never Give Up (2015) is an exemplary study of Entang Wiharso’s oeuvre: an allegorical undertaking that depicts the narrative of the postmodern human condition caught in the crossroads of political, ethnic, and religious systems. In fact, Never Say No, Wiharso’s latest show at Singapore Tyler Print Institute, reads like an expanded, digressive effort to interrogate notions of inconsistent social realities in a geopolitically transformed Southeast Asia, a region still strongly tied to tradition as it continues to navigate the benefits and pitfalls of the global economy.

Entang Wiharso. Borderless #1, 2015; lithography on Saunders 638g paper; 108 × 145 cm. Courtesy of Singapore Tyler Print Institute.

With their strange proportions, Wiharso’s images reference the dramatic characters of wayang kulit, an ancient Javanese storytelling tradition that uses shadow puppetry and draws from both Hindu myths in India and prehistoric animistic rites in Southeast Asia. The works in this show were created with a paper-casting process that introduces color and texture made by threads of soft yarn. The result is a dreamlike flatness, a visual mimicry of the two-dimensional forms of the wayang kulit, as a drama is played out that casts the viewer as a distant witness to a time when gods and humans coexisted and depended on one another.

Entang Wiharso. Shelter: Forest of Eyes, 2015; aluminum sheet, laser cut, C-type print; 127 × 184 × 3 cm. Courtesy of Singapore Tyler Print Institute.

Characters in Shelter: Forest of Eyes (2015) metamorphose into beings made of vines and branches (they look more like woodland hybrids than human beings) in a labyrinthine tangle of tongues, tendons, and intestines—a visual and corporeal allusion to the medieval concept of the world as a perilous maze where the sacred and the profane intersect. In contrast, Home Sweet Home (2015) is quite entertaining, a vision of what wayang kulit characters might look like in a familial portrait when the chaos in the archetypical battles of good versus evil momentarily halts for a photographer’s hurried snapshot. There is also no lack of satirical playfulness operating in works such as Her Shifting Identity #1 (2015), in which a figure made from a psychedelic mix of colored splotches curls up in a manner that is reminiscent of a somersaulting fetus in a womb.

Entang Wiharso. Her Shifting Identity #1, 2015; colored paper pulp, yarn, acrylic paint, stencil; 132.5 × 168 cm. Courtesy of Singapore Tyler Print Institute.

But unlike the ancient myths of Southeast Asia that wayang kulit recounts, Wiharso’s narratives are wholly steeped in the contemporary notions of cultural appropriation and borderless living. Almost boring in comparison to the wildly rambunctious visual vocabulary of Wiharso’s varied oeuvre, Under Protection for 24 Hours (2015) is a depiction of two women in traditional clothes standing at barred windows against the backdrop of an old European town. One holds a gun, but both are on guard against the influences of foreign ilk, with long, braided hair that ends in crab claws. In a region deeply marked by postcolonial histories and the processes of rapid globalization, the art that is produced often parallels social concerns as evinced by the consistent evocation of identity with the use of the body as a site of contested territory. It is unsurprising that Wiharso, like many other artists of Southeast Asian origin, revisits these conflicting notions of power and tolerance for this exhibition, whose title is a gauntlet clearly thrown to challenge reigning paradigms. There is an unsettling sense of violence—of raw brutality—that seems inherent to many of the images, as body parts stretch out of proportion and sharp daggers hang over the heads of hybrid figures.

Entang Wiharso. Art as Gift: Comic Book Series, 2015; cast paper, acrylic paint, yarn, metal leaf, STPI handmade paper; 145 × 225 × 4 cm. Courtesy of Singapore Tyler Print Institute.

In Art as Gift (2015), intertwined bodies tussle viciously for dominance in a display of penetrative acts that are both erotic and menacing. It is the human condition made flesh, or rather, paper that is made to resemble puckered flesh, with images fashioned as though by razor-sharp claws and teeth, created by the need to survive in a present moment that is entangled by conflict. But Art as Gift is simply another take on Wiharso’s ambivalent stance, one that pits contemporary life against archaic folkloric tradition. This theme is so prevalent that it’s impossible to ignore the sense of paralysis that dominates his images—a dire consequence of being trapped in a field of contesting moral compulsions and conflicting expectations.

Entang Wiharso: Never Say No is on view at Singapore Tyler Print Institute through May 30, 2015.

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As an independent curator also affiliated with the programming of a commercial space, I often find a strange tension during studio visits as to whom the visit is on behalf of. As clearly as I try to communicate that my interest is for personal projects, I frequently find myself reiterating in future correspondence that I am not in fact offering representation or an exhibition opportunity on behalf of the gallery. What is the best way to navigate this sort of conflict without being misleading to the numerous artists I have the pleasure of visiting? While it seems appropriate to communicate this before we even meet, I also feel conflicted as to how an immediate disclaimer reflects on my attitude/open-mindedness. Any advice as to timing and phrasing would be a tremendous help!

Your position is a tricky one, and I appreciate that you want to be on the level with the artists whose studios you visit. It sounds like the message you impart about your role isn’t always being taken seriously, and I wonder if some of the artists you are visiting have clogged ears or an overdeveloped sense of optimism. Perhaps despite all the evidence to the contrary they think that you are just testing them, humbly disguising your real intentions to offer them a solo show at your employer’s gallery if the visit goes well.

John Baldessari, Man with Blue Shape, 1991. Photograph, 77.5 x 122 cm

In any case, it’s going to behoove you to be confident and direct with your message. I know that artists can sometimes seem misguided, but since you say you feel conflicted about making disclaimers, I wonder if you are really being as forthright as possible? You can avoid confusion or hurt feelings by stating your intentions candidly. By making sure that you convey your specific and limited role when you make the initial contact for the visit (by email, that way it will be in writing), and again in person when you begin the studio visit, you can avoid a miscommunication. You don’t need to feel conflicted about this. Personally—and I suspect I am not alone in this opinion—I would rather work with a curator who speaks plainly about her position and interest.

In writing, you might try something like, “Though I do work for Gallery X, my interest in your work stems from my own curatorial practice, independent of my employment.” In person, you might want to start the conversation with, “Just so you know…” “Before we really get into it, I’d like to make it clear that…” or “Because of some confusion in the past, I want to clarify…” By reiterating your position in person, I hope you’ll drive the message home. If you think you might be uncomfortable saying something like this, rehearse it with a friend or in front of a mirror. When you deliver your lines, check to make sure that the artist is nodding or otherwise indicating comprehension before you move on. If an artist asks you about representation or other opportunities at your employer’s gallery, you can just say, “Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of decision-making power.”

If you’ve outlined your position twice, in writing and again face-to-face, and yet need to reiterate your intentions to a particular artist it might be a warning sign that this person will be difficult to deal with in the future.

John Baldessari, Two Whales (with People), 2010. Screenprint on paper, 32.25 x 23.60 in, edition of 50

I am an emerging artist in the process of a minor transformation and I could use a little advice. For the past ten years I have made sculptures and installations that are mechanically and technologically very complex. Because of this I have always maintained a large studio/workshop filled with tools, equipment, and materials. Lately I have begun to find this approach burdensome in terms of the resources it requires and the accumulation of physical objects that is its natural result. Therefore I have begun to make work that is immaterial and doesn’t require the infrastructure of a studio, like single channel videos, web projects, etc. These projects are working out for me and I am considering ditching my studio altogether. My question is: Can a contemporary artist expect to be taken seriously if he doesn’t maintain a studio? How might I deal with studio visits with curators/gallerists etc.? Am I being hasty and reactionary?

Many artists have gone through a sea change, abandoning one body of work in favor of something new. In 1970 John Baldessari famously burned all his early paintings and made work from the ashes before turning the bulk of his attention to appropriation and photography. Perhaps you are undergoing the same kind of transformation.

It’s not for me to say if you are being hasty and reactionary—that’s an issue you can puzzle out with the friends who know your practice and your work well enough to judge. In fact, it’s difficult to give you hard and fast advice without knowing exactly how you arrived at your decision to stop making sculptures and installation. You might be going through a phase, or you might be on the verge of a whole new life. How do you feel about commitment? If you like to change your style or job frequently, you might want to wait and see what happens before you dump your studio. If you’ve been rocking the same M.O. since high school and tend to follow a course for a long time, this might be an indicator that your days as a sculptor are truly over. Only you can decide if this is a long-term decision or a temporary state of mind.

John Baldessari, The Pencil Story, 1972-1973. Two B-Type prints on board with colored pencil

Can a contemporary artist be taken seriously without a studio? Well, it depends on what kind of artist you are. I can envision, for example, a social practitioner who claims the world as her studio, and I can see the curators of the next Documenta taking that kind of thing very seriously indeed. If your work is strong you can get away with a lot, and I think you could certainly make a case as a conceptual/non-material artist for not needing a physical studio.

But is there a middle ground here, even a temporary one? If you are making videos and want to show them to curators and gallerists you’ll need some sort of place to meet and talk. This could be a spare room in your house or a cleared-out corner of your apartment. You could also consider renting a small space in a large, shared studio or office where you could put a desk and chairs, a place where you could receive visitors without having to clean your bathroom and tidy up your living area. If you have an exhibition, ask the gallery if you can use the exhibition space as a meeting place during off hours. Then you can tour visitors through the exhibition as well as use your laptop or website to show them images of other work.

Perhaps you can put your tools and equipment into storage for a while. It’s cheaper than renting a studio and you can always go back to it if you change your mind. Like the box you never open after moving, if you haven’t gone to your storage space in, say, a year or two, you might feel comfortable letting go of what’s inside. Good luck.