In my home, a step down off the dining room, overlooking the beautiful garden my wife has created, I have my studiolo. A studiolo in Renaissance times in Italy was either a piece of furniture or, in the case I have in mind, a small room in which to write and read and listen to music and think. It was, in miniature, a study cum library which offered privacy and a minimum of space for books and personal memorabilia and writing material.
In mine I have a comfortable chair and a desk looking out the window on the garden, lawn and trees with a view of the ocean over the top of the seawall. I note with no particular Luddite pride but certainly with no feeling of deprivation either, that this private room has no computer,
