When Looks Get in the Way of Function
One of the issues I repeatedly stumbled into during my original studio design—about a year earlier—was placing a synth or a piece of gear somewhere because it looked great, only to later realize it was completely impractical to actually use it there.
That original studio design, before the transition to hardware, never made it onto camera.
The Unfilmed Beginning
Before I ever started filming the studio journal videos, my studio had already begun to change.
At that time, my setup was still very much software-based.
Then came a stretch where I was sick with a cold—wiped out for a few weeks—and spending a lot of time watching videos of hardware synth studios on YouTube. That was the moment the idea of moving toward a hardware-centric studio really took hold.
What followed—but wasn’t filmed—was the first physical transformation of the space.
The First Attempt at a Synth Wall
I installed two vertical shelving posts on what would become the right side of the synth wall.
The original idea was to create a floor-to-ceiling modular rack.
That plan didn’t last long.
I quickly realized it wasn’t the direction I wanted to go, so I pivoted:
- Installed shelving posts on the left side
- Built the first version of what would eventually become the synth wall
- Added one long shelf connecting the two sets of shelves in the studio
Once all of that was in place, I loaded the shelves with gear.
And that was my studio.
A Studio That Looked Great—but Didn’t Work
At that stage, everything looked fantastic.
The shelves were full.
The studio had a strong visual identity.
It finally felt like a real synth space.
There was just one problem.
Nothing was connected—and almost nothing was usable.
Every instrument had been placed based on aesthetics, not workflow. Turning something on and actually working with it was awkward at best, impossible at worst.
Standing in a room full of beautiful but unusable gear was the true catalyst for the full studio redesign that followed.
Wanting a Studio That Invited Use
What I wanted was a working studio.
A space where I could:
- Walk up to an instrument
- Turn it on
- Get to work immediately
Up until that point, I’d never really had that.
Hardware studios were new territory for me, and teaching and other projects had always taken priority over refining my physical setup.
That moment made it clear something had to change.
Missing the First Chapter
There’s a small part of me that regrets not filming those very first days—when bookcases were coming down, shelves were going up, and the studio was still more idea than reality.
At the time, I wasn’t thinking I was about to redesign my entire studio. I thought I was just making a few changes.
Looking back, I wish I had taken more photos or videos of the old layout.
But that’s how these things go.
You don’t always realize you’re at the beginning of something until you’re already far past it.
Why Records Matter
Not everyone feels this way, but I’ve come to realize how valuable documentation can be.
Progress often happens slowly, spread over years. Without some kind of record, it can be hard to remember:
- Where you started
- How much you’ve learned
- How much you’ve changed
That perspective can be powerful.
I see this all the time with my students. When they hear a recording from the beginning of the year and compare it to one from the end, there’s almost always a smile—and a quiet sense of pride.
It’s proof that the work mattered.
Applying That Idea to Studios
The same idea applies to studios and creative spaces.
Being able to look back can be:
- Motivating during creative ruts
- Reassuring during moments of doubt
- Grounding when it feels like you’re not moving forward
Function First, Looks Second
A beautiful studio is inspiring—but only if it works.
The early version of my synth wall taught me that looks alone aren’t enough. A studio has to invite use, not just admiration.
And if you’re the type who finds value in reflection, keeping some kind of record—photos, notes, videos—of your studio’s evolution might turn out to be more useful than you expect.
Even if no one else ever sees it, future you might be glad it’s there.
