Suffield, Conn. – One look at his “Soup to Nutz” comic strip and it’s clear that syndicated cartoonist Rick Stromoski is still very much in touch with his inner child.
So when it was time to renovate his home studio, Stromoski was adamant about holding onto the treasures that still connect him to his youth.
The cartoonist grew up in New Jersey. But his extended family – he’s the seventh of 12 children – was firmly rooted in Pittsburgh, where Stromoski became a devoted fan of the Pirates and the Steelers.
His strip, syndicated in 150 newspapers, is inspired by the antics of his brothers and sisters.
Designer Lisa Davenport almost visibly cringed when Stromoski insisted that his football helmets, team jerseys and a huge, old school clock remain part of her plan for the studio on the second floor of his 107-year-old Main Street home.
“That Pirates jersey, as a kid I would have died to have one of those jerseys,” he said. “That’s a connection to my childhood growing up.”
With its yellow walls and shabby cabinets with sticky drawers, Stromoski’s studio was inefficient, uncomfortable and no longer fit with the rest of the historic home. His wife, Danna Gauntner, has lovingly restored the rest of the house since the couple settled in Connecticut 15 years ago.
The studio redesign started in July. Davenport first visited Stromoski and Gauntner in the room and asked a lot of questions about how he uses the space. At the time, the studio was cramped with a large wooden drafting table, an old green futon with a steel frame, a second desk for the computer and a huge free-standing paper cutter.
The Pirates jersey, the clock and framed originals from some of the nation’s most famous cartoonists hung on the walls. One frame held originals by five Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial cartoonists.
Stromoski told Davenport he did most of his brainstorming while reclined on the futon. So creating a place where he could lie down would be imperative. Gauntner had cut out scores of pictures from design magazines, and Stromoski always had gravitated to the ones with window seats. He liked hardwood floors and sea foam green paint.
Stromoski also had hundreds of books stored in the attic. When he needed them for reference, he would cart them downstairs, then end up with a huge pile on the floor that he eventually would lug up again. Gauntner said she would like more bookshelves. Stromoski said everything already in the 16-by-13-foot room would have to stay.
Davenport returned about a month later with a plan. The walls would be a pretty Guilford green; the floors, engineered wood in a pecan finish. The drafting table would be swapped with the computer desk, so each was on an opposite wall. Two sofa-length window seats would replace the futon, and every piece of surrounding wall space would be covered with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcases. One window seat would be dedicated to the couple’s 12-year-old daughter, Molly, who likes to do her homework in the studio while her father works in the afternoon.
For a moment, Stromoski was quiet. Then he smiled cautiously.
“You’re changing it dramatically, which I didn’t expect,” he said. “But I like it.”
One worry was the light. Stromoski had been working at his drawing table for 15 years, light from a huge picture window always coming in over his right shoulder. How would he feel if the exposure were reversed? Would he be able to work? He decided to move the drafting table before construction began to give it a test run.
Another concern was timing. Deadlines are constant for Stromoski.
How long, he wondered, would he be unable to use his studio? The contractor estimated about a week.
By early February, demolition began. Stromoski, who prides himself on being “real good with a sledge hammer,” spent a weekend destroying the old plywood cabinets and throwing them out the window to a truck below. Molly helped.
Contractor Andrew Kier was able to build custom cabinets for less than the cost of ready-mades. Each lower cabinet includes shallow, flat drawers, the perfect size to store Stromoski’s paper and completed originals. “I can archive all of my strips in this room,” he said one morning, while Kier painted the built-ins white.
The couple purchased a colorful cushion fabric and ordered chunky wooden blinds to cover one window and left the picture window bare for maximum light. A sisal area rug covered the new hardwood floors.
“Wow,” Davenport said when she saw the final product in early April. Standing on the rug, she pivoted on her heels to take it all in. “I’m so thrilled,” she said.
But gone were the football jerseys, helmets and paper cutter. Tucked into a corner, hidden behind the open door, he showed her a bookshelf decorated with a few baseball hats and football helmets. But that was it. No school clock.
“I’m not going to put as much in,” said Stromoski, 48. “I think I’m going to grow up a little.”
