A Studio in a Forgotten Room

Recently, I was given the opportunity to occupy the historic schoolhouse beside my local church and turn it into a studio. It’s an incredibly old building, one that now sits mostly quiet and unused, only opened once a month for parish meetings. The rest of the time, it simply waits, holding onto years of stillness.

When I first stepped inside it felt like entering somewhere time had forgotten.

Everything was covered. And I mean everything in layers of mould in every shade imaginable, white, grey, green, even deep black, spreading across cupboards, walls, shelves, and surfaces that haven’t been properly touched in years. The air was thick with damp and the unmistakable smell of a building that has been closed up far too long.

Yet beneath all of that neglect, the place is absolutely stunning.

Old wooden details, ancient brick walls, tall ceilings, and wide windows that spill light across the floors. You can feel the age of the building immediately, the quiet presence of all the lives that have passed through it before. It’s impossible not to imagine what it once was when it was full of children, voices, and movement.

Before I can properly move in, I’ve been slowly trying to bring it back to life.

With the little spare time I have, I cycle over with cleaning supplies and begin again. Scrubbing walls, airing out rooms, wiping down surfaces that haven’t seen daylight in years. It’s slow work. Some days it feels endless. But each time I return to the building feels slightly different, slightly lighter, as if it’s remembering it’s allowed to breathe again.

What excites me most is the space itself.

There’s a full kitchen and large open space, more than enough space to build a studio that feels both practical and comforting. I’m dreaming of a small sofa and a soft corner to sit and think, surrounded by books, plants, and quiet. Alongside that, a dedicated workspace where I can make pigments, paint, and sculpt, where the floors can get dusty with minerals and colour without worry.

And somehow the most perfect part of all is that it’s only five minutes away by bicycle.

Close enough that I can slip away there whenever I need to. A small journey, but just far enough to feel like stepping into another world entirely.

It’s such a shame the building has been left to slowly rot like this. Places like this hold so much history, so much quiet beauty. They deserve to be lived in, worked in, and filled with movement and creativity again.

So for now, I clean.

Bit by bit. Window by window. corner by corner.

And slowly, this old schoolhouse is beginning to wake up again.

With love and minerals,
Ellie Jane