Crafty chaos is the name of the game at the Splatter Studio

On learning to unleash your creativity by getting messy

1099
Splatter Studio Atlanta

Photograph courtesy of the Splatter Studio

I wouldn’t call myself a control freak or say I’m obsessed with cleanliness. In fact, I don’t have just one “junk drawer”—I have so many that the overflow goes into something we call “the garbage box.” But I’ll admit to having a fondness for order and symmetry. They are calming, amid chaos. So, I did not immediately go ham when presented with the opportunity to throw, spray, drip, splurt, and shoot (from a foam “splatter gun”) paint onto a canvas at Virginia-Highland’s new Splatter Studio. (A second location recently opened in Sandy Springs.)

Here’s how it works: Arrive at this open room at your appointed time, pay $55, and you’ll receive one hour of studio time, a disposable poncho, a pair of disposable shoe covers, protective gloves, a 16-by-20-inch canvas, a take-home box, and permission to get artistic. (The only real rule: Don’t splash paint on other people.)

It’s the perfect place for skeptics who have looked at a Jackson Pollock drip painting and scoffed, I could do that.

During my visit, I watched as my 10-year-old son painted with abandon, hurling glops of red on top of strips of black on top of splashes of hot pink, teal, and silver. He was having a blast. “I hope it doesn’t end up looking like a big brown mess,” he said, and I hoped the same, given that I wasn’t up for buying additional canvases (starting at $12).

Over in my station, I carefully swiped teal and blue stripes across the surface and used a bottle to create silver stalactite-like drips, then fanned out navy blue from the whiskers of a paintbrush. I made sure all of the colors matched.

At the end of the hour, as we took our masterpieces off the wall, I saw a wonderful thing: My painting was fine, yes, but my son’s? It was fantastic—a layered, textured, complex, and downright beautiful riot of color and shape. He’d painted something that looked like a redwood forest, seen through an oil-slick lens.

And that reminded me of something important. While there may not be any magnificence in my junk drawer, it’s okay to make a mess. Beauty is often found there.

This article appears in our May 2022 issue.

Advertisement