The Dream Studio: Inside Steve Chmilar’s Artist Practice

What makes a dream studio?

For BC artist Steve Chmilar, it isn’t simply a question of square footage, perfect natural light or having every conceivable tool at hand. It’s about creating a space that understands the way you work, and allowing that space to evolve alongside you.

Steve’s practice moves through drawing, sculpture, photography, digital image-making and oil painting, with each stage informing the next. His studio reflects an artist studio practice built over time: highly considered but flexible, filled with the materials he trusts, the artwork and books that keep him connected to his visual world, and ingenious systems developed through years of figuring out what he actually needs.

As Studio Season arrives, we visited Steve to talk about building a workspace around your practice, why good lighting matters, the tools he keeps within arm’s reach, and how a studio becomes a dream studio not through perfection, but through use.

A certain amount of space is non-negotiable. However, my actual painting practice doesn’t require a large area, being that my paintings aren’t massive and I don’t always work on many pieces at once.

There are multiple parts to my process, so I can do other things in other spaces. For example, I build sculptures using materials like wood, clay and foam core for reference images in a separate workshop. I also do photoshoots with models once in a while, as well as digital image editing and video recording.

If I had a studio the size of an airplane hangar, I’m sure I could do it all there, but I like having different spaces to go to. I often use a classroom at the McTavish Academy of Art for teaching groups and photoshoots.

More than anything, I would say that a beautiful, inspiring feeling is important to me. If I’m going to spend a lot of time there, it has to be a place that brings me joy and clarity.

Having enough room for a drawing station and two painting stations is something Steve now considers a luxury, particularly after working within much tighter confines while living in Toronto.

It means one project can remain on the “back burner” while another takes centre stage, without everything having to be packed away between sessions.

Steve describes his organisational ideal as a studio that works a little like a store: materials visible, labels facing outward, nothing buried at the bottom of a drawer.

Some of his oil paints already live this way on a shelf he built himself, although, as his collection grows, he admits he now needs a bigger one.

The studio’s existing shelving is supplemented by storage beneath Steve’s custom-built tables, while a rolling cart keeps drawing materials together and can be moved directly beside his work surface.

“The real ‘field test’ is once a new painting or drawing starts,” he explains. “In the moment, it should be obvious what I need close at hand and what becomes a nuisance if it is too far away.”

A dream studio still has to solve practical problems. For Steve, the trick has been accepting that no single configuration can accommodate every part of a changing practice.

"There are some contradictions to trying to have a space that is both organised and creatively unlimiting," he says. "It is all trade-offs. There is no perfect setup to suit all of those demands simultaneously."

That is why mobility has become such an important part of the studio. Work tables sit on caster wheels so the room can be reconfigured according to the project, while anything unlikely to be used for several days is put away.

The room itself matters, too.

"It helps that this room has nice moulding and coffered ceilings. That was my primary criterion when looking for a place, and everything else was secondary."

For Steve, those architectural details contribute to an environment that feels elegant as well as functional.

Natural light may be the romantic ideal of the artist’s studio, but Steve takes a more practical approach.

“Light, in my opinion, is the most underrated factor in any indoor space, not only for art studios, but for all places.”

West-facing windows bring a good amount of natural light into his studio during the day, but because Steve often paints after hours, he has designed the space to function independently of daylight.

He uses high-CRI (Colour Rendering Index 95%+) bulbs positioned at a similar angle to gallery lighting, generally working at around 4000K. It allows him to judge colour in conditions closer to those in which a finished painting might eventually be exhibited.

“I remember to check under other light temperatures during the painting process to sway some of my colour decisions,” he explains.

Sometimes, he goes in the opposite direction and turns the lights off entirely.

“I like to make sure my painting feels like it is glowing even with low light. Sometimes I look at my overall light/dark ratios when there are no lights on in my studio. I find that if the light areas appear to provide their own light, then I know I’m on the right track with the compositional values and overall softness of gradients.”

The studio makes the most sense when considered as part of Steve’s wider process. He breaks the creation of a painting into five main stages:

1. Concept (thumbnail sketches from imagination)

2. 3D (building sculptures and maquettes)

3. Photography (photographing maquettes and human models)

4. Digital reference image creation

5. Oil painting (beginning with a drawing on the painting substrate)

Not every stage needs to happen in the studio.

The initial concept might require nothing more than a small sketchbook and pencil. Three-dimensional models are generally built in his workshop. Photoshoots can take place in a larger rented room, while digital work can happen almost anywhere.

The studio is ultimately optimised for the final stage: painting, alongside ongoing drawing projects.

It’s an important distinction. Rather than expecting one room to accommodate every possible creative activity, Steve has shaped his primary workspace around what he most needs it to do.

A studio isn’t only made up of tools and furniture. The things an artist chooses to live alongside can be equally important.

Steve surrounds himself with prints of his own drawings and paintings.

“That could seem self-indulgent, but it helps to remind me of the world I’ve created and to quickly see how new ideas can relate to that world,” he says. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to make art that I would put on my own walls regardless of what anyone else thought, so that remains the same as when I started many years ago.”

His bookshelf provides another connection to that world. Among the artists he returns to are Jean-François Millet, Honoré Daumier, Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Ludolf Backhuysen, Velázquez, Benjamin West, Joseph Wright of Derby and Pieter Bruegel.

“I feel a deep kinship with many of those artists through the subject matter that they painted. I would like to carry on their tradition in my own new way, and so having those books on hand is always inspiring.”

Years of working in different spaces have taught Steve that there is no universal formula for an artist’s studio.

“It takes many iterations, I believe, to know how we work and how our space needs to be. There are so many suggestions out there or expected stereotype setups that may not apply to all of us.”

His own practice is a good example. He doesn’t use the traditional kidney-shaped wooden palette he once assumed a painter should have. He doesn’t work with large quantities of paint or solvent. He doesn’t use a mahl stick, instead relying on an adjustable curtain-rod system he designed to run horizontally in front of his painting.

Experience has gradually stripped away the things he thought an artist should use, leaving the things that genuinely support the way he works.

That principle applies just as readily to artists working with limited room or limited budgets.

Perhaps the most appealing thing about Steve’s studio is that, despite all the thought that has gone into it, he doesn’t consider it finished.

“It can only happen after trial and error,” he says.

The realisation that his current studio had become something special came not while he was improving it, but after spending several weeks away.

“When I returned I felt such joy being in the space and did not take it for granted.”

There are still things he could imagine adding: more room, more natural light, even a suite where an assistant could stay. But those aren’t what ultimately make the studio work.

“I am happy to say this is the best studio I’ve ever had to this point. It is still a work in progress, just like an artist’s body of work. I adjust the layout and experiment with new ways of organising my tools while working as a constant form of growth.”

Maybe that's the closest thing to a definition. Not a finished room, but one that keeps teaching you what it needs. Trial and error, as Steve puts it, all the way through.

Ready to make your own studio work harder for your practice? Explore professional artist materials, studio essentials and new arrivals at Opus, or visit your local Opus store for advice on finding the tools that suit the way you work.