Welcome to the 337th installment of A View From the Easel, a series in which artists reflect on their workspace. This week, Lavett Ballard — artist and Barbie curator extraordinaire — organizes exhibitions and transforms wood in the former chemistry lab of a high school-turned-community center.
Want to take part? Check out our submission guidelines and share a bit about your studio with us through this form! All mediums and workspaces are welcome, including your home studio.
How long have you been working in this space?
Eight years.
Describe an average day in your studio.
I’m in the studio about four to five days a week, usually rolling in around 11am or noon — which I like to joke is exactly why I became an artist. Early mornings and I have never been friends. I’ll typically work straight through until my building kicks me out around 9pm-ish. My studio is in my town’s former second high school, now a community center, and my room used to be a chemistry lab — which feels fitting, because a lot of what I do is about transformation.
My days usually start with the physical prep — sanding, staining, sometimes scorching reclaimed fence panels or wood. On any given day, there are piles of sawdust on the floor, mixed in with scraps of paper and metallic foil flakes that somehow get everywhere. After that, I move into research — pulling images from books, magazines, and the internet, printing, and then cutting paper for hours. That part is meditative for me. It’s quiet, repetitive, and where a lot of ideas really take shape. The space itself is full of inspiration: stacks of art books and catalogs, plus a growing collection of Barbie dolls and Funko Pops. The Barbies belong to my six-year-old granddaughter, who sometimes joins me in the studio to paint. She — and honestly, some of my friends — love to raid my retro teal mini fridge for snacks and juice. She proudly tells people her Meemaw “curates her Barbie collection” at the studio, which I think is the best title I’ve ever been given. Somewhere in between all that, I might pause to play with my Star Wars droids — BB-8 or Grogu — before getting back to work. Every day feels like a mix of ritual, mess, play, and discovery — and it all finds its way into the work.
How does the space affect your work?
The space has a huge impact on my work. I pass old lockers on my way in, and inside I’m surrounded by chalkboards, sinks, stone countertops, and rows of cabinets. The scale alone gives me room to think bigger — physically and conceptually. I’m not confined, so I don’t create that way either. The lighting is one of my favorite parts. It’s about 1,200 square feet with tall windows overlooking a community garden, so the light is always shifting in really beautiful ways. It changes how I see color, texture, and layering; it keeps me responsive. The openness of the room also allows me to have multiple works in progress laid out at once, so I can move between them intuitively. There’s something about working in a former classroom — especially a chemistry lab — that reinforces the idea that I’m constantly experimenting, breaking things down, and building them back up in new ways.
How do you interact with the environment outside your studio?
I’m deeply connected to both the building and the community around it. I serve as the township’s artist-in-residence, so I’m often brought in to contribute ideas, offer creative direction, and support a range of artistic initiatives. I also curate and direct exhibitions in the building’s front lobby gallery, organizing three to five shows each year. That’s been especially meaningful — many local artists are seeing their work on walls for the first time, and some have gone on to grow their careers from that initial exposure.
The building itself has really become a creative hub. People come through not just for programming, but to experience art in a space that feels welcoming and accessible. For me, it’s never just about what happens inside my studio — it’s about helping shape an environment where art is visible, valued, and part of everyday community life. I’m also about 30 minutes from Philadelphia, so I regularly tap into that larger art scene — attending gallery openings, museum exhibitions, and events. It’s an incredible resource to have so close. At the same time, through my curatorial work and ongoing relationships with regional artists, I’ve built a strong local network. In many ways, I am the local art community here — I’m constantly connecting artists, creating opportunities, and helping bring visibility to the work happening around me.
What do you love about your studio?
Even though I live less than five minutes away, stepping into my studio feels like entering a completely different space, mentally and creatively. I love the sensory experience of it, the smell of wood, paint, and materials. I love that I can sit on my couch, flip through art books or catalogs, and think without interruption. There’s a kind of quiet magic in the space. Inspiration hits differently there — it feels activated. It’s one of the few places where I can be fully immersed in my work and my thoughts at the same time.
What do you wish were different?
The Wi-Fi could definitely be better — it’s a little unpredictable at times. And because it’s an older building, the temperature can be tricky. It gets hot in the summer and a bit cold at the start of winter. I layer up in the winter, keep a space heater nearby, and run the AC nonstop in the summer.
Logistically, the biggest challenge is probably access. My studio is on the second floor, and while there is an elevator, it’s a small passenger one on the opposite side of the building. So when I have work coming in or going out for exhibitions or fairs, it can be … a bit of a production. I’m very grateful to have a strong husband and very capable sons who help carry work up and down the stairs when needed. I often joke with art handlers that if I ever hit the lottery, I’m gifting the building a freight elevator — specifically on my side. But honestly, it’s all a small trade-off. The character, size, and location of the space make it more than worth it.
What is your favorite local museum?
That’s a hard one, being so close to both Philadelphia and New York. But in Philadelphia, I love the Colored Girls Museum in Germantown — it’s intimate, powerful, and deeply rooted in storytelling and lived experience. In New York, I’d say the Brooklyn Museum and The Met. These are spaces I can return to again and again and always find something new.
What is your favorite art material to work with?
Wood — hands down. And anything wood-adjacent, like paper. I’m drawn to materials that hold memory, have texture, that can be transformed. Wood gives me that grounding, physical connection, and paper allows me to build, layer, and tell stories in a different but equally tactile way.