From when the New York Times visited Schlesinger's studio at Headlands last year:
Collections of small brightly colored pebbles and leaves, bits of wood and other objects — the yield of those walks — skirted the edge of the studio, all sitting in the order of their discovery. His building tools, a constant companion, sat on top of makeshift tables of wood and old radiators. The space was largely devoid of color except for the shock of electric blue — from tape to drawing pencils to large spools of thread being used in his largest piece for his final show. It’s interesting that as an artist so invested in the idea of home he’s inhabited so many places that are impermanent. “There are so many ways to understand the idea of home,” he said. “I think it really comes down to a sense of place, a sense of where you are. Though there is a liminal quality to the spaces I inhabit now, there may be great potential in that. Within all of this, there is a feeling that I am where I belong.”
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