Ray Bradbury’s Magic Cabinet: Why Clutter Clearing is Overrated for Artists
by Thea Fiore-Bloom, Ph.D.
The old TV show “The Ray Bradbury Theatre” opens with the camera peering down a coal-black elevator shaft at the heart of a 1930’s office building.
We watch as an antique box elevator ominously rises up toward us.
It stops.
Doors quietly open.
Bradbury, in silhouette, exits the elevator and walks us into a darkened set of rooms crammed with strange objects.
As Bradbury clicks on one lamp after another, the viewer gets to glimpse various desks piled high with his treasures. Globes, weighty plastic alien skulls, and even heftier plastic dinosaurs teeter atop piles of comic books and dime-store sci-fi novels.
We start to understand that this cabinet of curiosities is, in fact, Ray Bradbury’s office.
Where Was Ray Bradbury’s Office?
Bradbury worked in an Aladdin’s cave of an office for fifty years. It lay nestled within the now sadly demolished walls of a charming 1930s yellow bungalow at 10265 Cheviot Drive in Culver City, California.
This crazy place that may have given Marie Kondo a seizure is where one of the best science fiction/horror/fantasy writers in the world dreamt up his stories.
But back to our story.
We then hear Bradbury’s deep voice boom out a question:
“People ask me, where do you get your ideas?
He surveys the room and then answers:
“Well…right here.”
“All this is my Martian landscape, says Bradbury.
“Somewhere in this room is an African veldt; just beyond, perhaps, is a small Illinois town where I grew up, and I’m surrounded on every side by my magician’s toy shop.”
He adroitly swivels around in his chair and pops a crisp blank piece of paper into his seemingly expectant typewriter.
“I’ll never starve here,” says Bradbury.
“I just look around and find what I need and begin.
I am Ray Bradbury, and this is. . .”
He pecks out 12 letters the camera zooms in, and we see they spell out:
“S-t-r-a-n-g-e T-a-l-e-s.”
With the audience now captured, the program begins.
I don’t remember the actual show, but that damn intriguing intro is in my head forever.
Why did that sequence get me and other future artists and writers so excited?
Ray Bradbury and Loving What You Love
Well, in that one-minute tour, Bradbury sanctioned you to love what you loved and explore the giant universe with all your heart, all from within the confines of a tiny darkened room filled with your passions and bright ideas.
But for me, Bradbury’s offices (and the offices and home museums of other great writers, artists, and thinkers I’ve visited around the world for my dissertation) also did me the favor of affirming one particular truth that is rarely spoken of.
And the truth is that specific stuff (what others might term junk) is vital to great artists and writers.
Particular objects of ours safely house our memories or daydreams.
Particular objects of ours harbor our brightest ideas, patiently keeping them safe till we are ready to call upon them.
Smart Folks Throughout History, Like Ray Bradbury, Daydreamed With Objects
Having piles of stuff lying about is a proud artistic and intellectual tradition.
Artists, writers, and other great thinkers have surrounded themselves with things and used things to think with since before the renaissance.
If you were lucky enough to have a room packed with objects that made your brain purr back in Italy, Germany, or the Netherlands of the 1400s-1600s, you wouldn’t be trying to clutter clear it. Instead, you would proudly refer to it as your studiolo or your wunderkammer.
Men (and a few brainy, wealthy women like Isabel D’este) used to have small rooms built inside their bigger rooms with the sole purpose of cram-jamming them full of astrolabes, taxidermied alligators, alembic vessels, books, and anything else that made their brains jump for joy.
Ray Bradbury’s Connection to Studioli and Wunderkammer
Our modern term studio is a direct descendant of the Italian word studiolo.
And Wunderkammer is German for “wonder room.”
The first public museums were the result of putting the collections from private studioli and wunderkammern on display in public spaces.
So if it weren’t for mad stuff-obsessed thinkers and collectors, the British Museum and the Met wouldn’t have been born.
Ray Bradbury is Proof Clutter Clearing is Overrated
But is fabulous brain-stimulating stuff becoming an endangered species?
We live in a time when simplifying our spaces is all the rage.
Don’t get me wrong; I respect Marie Kondo and her Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.)
And yes, I agree, it’s great to let go of what no longer serves you.
But the thing is, the oddest objects can serve artists and writers.
So my point here is don’t be shamed into throwing all your babies out with all your bathwaters.
Critics called Ray Bradbury eccentric and a lousy housekeeper, but he didn’t care what others thought of him.
So why should you feel guilty if you keep strange things around, love collecting, or have dust in your studio?
Because you’re an artist or writer, not a spokesperson for Glade®.
Know that, like Bradbury, there is a method to your madness regarding objects and the state of your workspace.
Children (and adults whose child is still alive within them) have the courage to put their fascinations on display proudly.
Ray Bradbury’s assertiveness, playfulness, and self-regard made him independent enough to create and enjoy a liminal place packed with meaningful objects to work and dream in.
And we can enjoy objects in the same way.
P.S. Like Ray Bradbury, Your Studio Is Not a Mess, If You Say it in Italian
Next time you look out over your studio and think it is an insane mess, reframe the situation in your head.
Why not see your strange piles as a necessary part of a genuinely charmed studio?
Charmed studios celebrate meaningful stuff lying about.
And if that doesn’t work, and you still think you can’t have fun with art until you tidy up, go ahead and bust out some Italian.
Dub your studio a studiolo.
This way, you don’t have to clean it this minute.
Instead of tidying up, pour yourself a Campari® and soda or an Orangina® over ice, and make more art.
That’s what Bradbury (who wrote at least twenty-four books) would do, though he preferred cracking open a humble Coors®.
And while you are in your art or writing space today, keep an eye out for some objects that might be patiently housing your next brilliant idea.
Maybe that stray phrenology head, broken clock, or set of Japanese anime action figures is holding a brilliant idea for a memoir or your next painting.
I have a pool table-green, enchanted suitcase from the 1940s in my workspace that has been calling my name lately.
Please tell me an object in your studiolo that has been winking at you lately in the comments below.
And remember:
“The things of this world are vessels, entrances for stories; when we touch or tumble into them, we fall into their labyrinthine resonances.”
— Lynda Sexson (author of Ordinarily Sacred)
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It could be a vintage gun holster from the Wild West.
Or a special chipped teacup?
I’d love to know in the comments below.
Check out my new post on objects and genius in the life of Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk:
Orhan Pamuk: Genies, Junos, Junk Shops, and Genius
How Visiting Famous Artists’ Home Museums Unleashes Wild Magic For Creatives
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Ray Bradbury’s Love of Libraries
Want to know what Bradbury perhaps loved even more than his private collection of stuff?
Public libraries.
“Libraries raised me. I don’t believe in colleges and universities. I believe in libraries because most students don’t have any money. When I graduated from high school, it was during the Depression, and we had no money.
I couldn’t go to college, so I went to the library three days a week for ten years.” — Ray Bradbury
Bradbury’s personal library was willed to the Waukegan Public Library, where he had many formative reading experiences.
Where To Find Bradbury’s “New” Office
Since I wrote this post, The Center for Ray Bradbury Studies has opened a simulation of Bradbury’s cluttered old office that fans can visit in Indianapolis, Indiana.
The excellent news is Bradbury’s myriad papers, and his thirty-three-odd filing cabinets are there, but sadly, there is not a Coors can or a disorderly pile of plastic dinosaurs in sight.
You can take a tidy virtual tour or get more info here.
Also, check out Torsten Adair’s post on Bradbury’s impact on the world here.
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You may also like these Charmed Studio Posts:
How Artists Can Write More Often: 1 Realization That Can Change Everything
How To Handle a Setback or Failure as an Artist
Start Writing Your Book in 7 Days, With Tea
Get Your Foot in the Door of a Museum Store: Insider Tips from a Top Museum Store Manager
Thea, I am weird. I thrive on clutter in my studio but not the rest of the house; My husband often tells people that he is surprised that I know exactly where everything this is despite all the clutter. After I complete a project I re-organize and clean up only to repeat the process. Many of the things I collect most likely will never get used but they feed my creativity! I think its awesome that Ray Bradbury learned all he needed to know by visiting the library three times a week! You discover the most amazing things about people!
I just love what you say here Sylvia: “Many of the things I collect most likely will never get used but they feed my creativity!” So true. Artists and writers need not “use” a thing to find it useful to think with or to think on. And you are not alone in your weirdness. I too have object-free zones and all out object wild riot zones in my house too. 🙂
I just spent the last five minutes turning over a piece of Bismuth I picked up in Salem, MA. The strange, natural formations it makes lets my mind wander and invent all kinds of things.
That is so cool, thanks for letting me know. Artists and writers often use objcects to think with. Bismuth is trippy isn’t it? Very science fiction-provoking I would think. Is your piece the kind with the repeating squares?
It has repeating, descending squares and triangles that make me think of Lewis Carroll or some dystopian science fiction urban city. There’s something more to it that eludes me when I look at it, which keeps me looking at it and makes it a bit magical..
How incredibly cool.And how fortunate it still has something that eludes you so it will continue to provoke curiosity and wonder.
Ah! Empathy. Thanks! I refer to my studio as similar to the cockpit of a 747. I always dreamed as a kid of having a studio that was huge, where I could lay out drawings do my drafting, painting, sculpture and writing while listening to my favorite music. I never got the huge part. But when my youngest son moved out, I got his 10 x 12 bedroom. I have everything I wanted and needed thanks to the computer, and the (guest room bed.) At 80 years old, I’m feeling compfy / cozy, though having to walk sideways through stuff is painful at times.
Wow Robert, what an enchanting comment. You made my day. And it’s easy to see you are a writer. You have a way with words. I can toally picture your 747 cockpit, what more does an artist and writer need but a 10′ x 12′ bedroom and the will power to side ways walk in there with a steaming cup of something and work every day on what you love? I think you have figured it all out. Thanks for visiting and commenting on my blog. Have a great flight today. Over and out.
I look for weird knickknacks at thrift stores. An ashtray that’s a turtle with human hands for feet. A posable wooden figure with the head replaced by a barbie doll head. I also keep some sculptures I made in high school art class, to remind me that skills need to be practiced to master.
Interesting-sounds like you are a dada-ist perhaps. Is the art that you make now at all surreal in nature? If you like doll head compositions and found object art there are two pilgrimages few people go on, that you may want to make if you haven’t done so already-both in California.
Grandma Presbey’s Bottle Village and Noah Purifoy’s Outdoor Desert Art Museum. I found out about Bottle Village and a bunch of other cool places in a great book called Spiritual American Trash by Greg Bottoms-powerfully written.
PS I think keeping images of your old work around is cool so you can see your evolution as an artist. Seeing how for we have come can give us encouragement to keep going. But also there is usually something fabulous in even our earliest pieces, something that represents our soul. 🙂
HOISTED ON MY OWN PETARD
Just want to generally apologize to those of you who tried to comment on this post earlier and couldn’t due to a self-inflicted technical difficulty. I installed a program to make commenting “easier” and it disallowed any comments. Please try again now. I would love to hear what you have to say. Thea
Things that remind me of the joy art brings to my life inspire me. . .
A small square box covered in hand-painted bees, lined in black velvet with a black satin loop peeking from under the lid sits on my drawing table. A reminder of the many years I painted murals, discretely adding a bumblebee near my signature reminding me to never give up.
Inside the box is a polished, pink, quartz heart that my husband and I found tucked into a wedding gift. This holds memories of his encouragement to follow my heart.
The pink heart lies beside a tiny Eiffel Tower reminding me of the exquisite beauty of the old masters and the grandeur of the Eiffel Tower.
Beside the box sits a votive candle holder with a Michael Angelo quote, “I’m still learning.” While slowly walking around the statue of David a tear trickled down my cheek at the sight of such magnificent workmanship. The quote reminds me there will always be more to learn.
The memories attached to these items open my heart to the wonder of art.
I love your blog and the information and encouragement you share. Your art is looking fabulous! Thank you for being you, Thea.
I find boxes to be sacred things. Kids (and a few cool adults like you) get the mystery and magic inherent in small boxes. They are treasure chests. I love the bee box of yours. (I found out a few years ago, and I bet you already know, that bees were an ancient symbol of The Great Goddess. Maybe I will email you an image of the Great Bee Goddess Maria Gimbutas researched from Ancient Crete.) And I love that the rose quartz heart now is a memory/touch stone of encouragement from your husband, that makes me tear up right now. Oh and I totally get your David statue moment. Even amidst a crowd of 100 talking, walking people, that statue can throw down this cone of silence and magic upon you when you look up at it. I was surprised at my reaction to it in Italy. That and Botticelli’s “Primavera” stunned and moved me as well. Thank you so much for sharing your beloved objects, it gives me hope for my project and helps me to understand the subject more. And I am so psyched you think the blog and my art are improving! That is great news for me. Hug to you, Thea
I love this! Yes if only we could share pictures. Well I’m going to share one of my craziest. My grandmother was not your typical grandma. Most of her collectables were X rated. I do have on my desk her prized Flasher Doll rain coat and all. And I do mean all. Maybe that’s why I have a warped sense of humor?
Now I really want to see that! What a gal! Where did your grandma grow up?
She’s from Chicago. She was a cocktail waitress. Friends with Al Capone.
Okay we gotta talk. Have you ever been to 2 Bunch Palms? Capone’s hide out in the desert?
I definitely need to speak Italian as a cover for the many collected “things” around me. So much inspiration in one post Thea…holy cow. You’ve made me go on creative journeys in my mind, just by paying attention to my “stuff”. The dinky toy of a VW van, reminds me of adventures in our VW Camper van. The freedom of the open road, new people and places, being able to make a fresh hot cup of coffee anytime, dinner on the beach, and a million other wondrous memories. And that’s just one object. What a powerful tool.
You’ve reminded me to revisit and be re-inspired by my own stuff. Thank you.
Prego, prego. Wow, thanks, you totally understand. I wish WordPress allowed photo inclusions in the comments. I would love people to be able to see that magic VW of wonder. What a world it contains right? It’s like a seashell you hold up to your ear, except instead of hearing the ocean—you get to experience wave after wave of memories of travel in that real VW Van in your mind’s eye—for free. Pretty good deal. Thanks as always for being bold and leaving a comment, I appreciate it.