The studios at the residency were shared in a single space, though each of us had our own three walls and expansive work surface to work on. Initially the other artists and I were uneasy about making art around others, while all of us are used to working in seclusion, it ended up being one of my favorite parts of the experience.
It was inspiring to look at what everyone was working on, and getting feedback from my peers in the moment was incredibly insightful. It was ultimately a dream workspace.
One of the focuses of my time here was figuring out how to get more intentional about my pallette. My confidence in color theory has always been shaky at best and I tend to be greedy with my colors.
This was a playful way for me to experiment with balancing colors and establishing palettes to try out in my paintings. I also began to make a diary of the paints I already had and noting the colors and brands as often times when I reach for a tube I’m not actually sure if that’s what I was using originally in my palette.
The first real paintings I started were inspired by the nature hikes I had been taking in the area. I was particularly struck by the formation of 3 cedar trees positioned around a central point, as though they were some sort of portal. Though I quickly realized that I was getting bogged down in the realism and details of the work. I wanted to push myself to experiment with working loosely and not getting too precious with the outcome of my images. But the idea of a portal, and the three entities struck a chord, and I began seeing this theme repeated in the work that remained.
Ultimately I ended up putting these particular paintings away to finish later, once I returned to my studio in Chicago. I still plan to complete these before the year is over.
The next piece I embarked on was wildly outside my comfort zone. I fell in love with a tube of Quinacridone purple and again limited my palette. I started this composition without knowing where it would go. It was a love/hate experience creating it. I was thinking about maternal lines, family trees, and the idea of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. I still have no idea if I love or hate this painting, which is honestly a great place to be. It means I’m pushing myself beyond my comfort zone.
Around mid-way through the residency I fell into a deep feeling of imposter syndrome. A combination of guilt in my absence from my family, the amount of resources I was taking up for myself, and a sense of “what the hell are you even making here” frustration overcame me. I felt I had not produced nearly enough work for how long I had been there and worried I would come out of this looking like I’d dilly dallied and wasted a whole lot of expensive time.
Katherine, a fellow figurative artist and I decided to grab a few drinks and dinner in town. Both of us were struggling with the same issue. How the hell do I make work that’s different from what I always make? But she led me to an instagram account that broke something open for me. If you haven’t seen videos by @samuelmeadarts I highly recommend them. Bringing up exercises to just make marks intuitively, and just start from a place of play and curiosity. This is something I have felt deeply disconnected from in my practice. How to just START and not worry if it will become anything of value.
Katherine offered to lend me her watercolor markers. I went back to the studio that night and cut up 10 small sheets of watercolor paper and just went nuts. What flowed out of me took me by surprise and I ended up with some great jumping points for new work.
Portal #2
I had entered this residency with a travel easel and a belief that I would be making paintings outside everyday. That ended up not panning out quite the way I expected, but I made a point to make time for painting from life, indoors and outdoors, both as a way to document, but also as a way to scratch that itch of keeping one toe in my comfort zone of realism.
The sketchbook is by an amazing company Luchetti, and the quality of the paper and binding made it a joy to work with.
One of the top reasons I chose to apply to the OU residency was the abundance of nature on the island. I had never traveled to the Pacific Northwest and the wild spaces were utterly breathtaking. I love being an artist of chicago, but I grew up camping, hiking, and canoeing on Missouri rivers. I miss being immersed in the natural world. And I knew there was a lot that the natural world had to tell me.
Trees are something that comes into my work often. I have probably 10,000 photos of trees scattered through my iphone, but with no clear idea where they will show up in my work. The old growth forests were a huge draw. And everywhere I went felt sacred. Being landlocked I made a point to drive to the part of the island where I could see the pacific stretch on into the horizon. When you live landlocked, you do not miss and opportunity to put your feet in the ocean when it arrives.
Prior to the residency, the last time I had taken a trip solo had been when I was in college. A long 20 years ago. I love my family, but I have always enjoyed going through life solo. The fact that I got to pull over and explore where and when I wanted to, as well as spend as much time in a location with out having to balance the needs of others such as hunger, tiredness, and so on, was so good for my heart and my brain.
For example when I arrived at a beach I mentally planned that I would only spend a couple hours there, and I ended up spending 4 hours instead. Not doing anything particular. Just watching the light change with the angle of the sun, sitting and staring at water, rocks, and petrified wood. Gathering shells and looking for creatures without interruption was a luxury beyond what any spa day could offer me.
A sweet little roadside spot I discovered on my way home from a hike.
I cannot understate how valuable the uninterrupted time I had for resting was. I learned that my natural rhythm in a day was mornings were for reading and researching. Afternoons were for going outside to explore and then recharging and napping. And finally, after dinner, I was ready to make work. And often late into the night when everyone else had retired to their rooms.
Suddenly I had time in my day to exercise, to cook healthy meals that my body was craving without accommodating a certain 9 year olds particulars, and sleep the actual amount of time my body needed. In other words I had time to take care of myself in a very nurturing and healthy way.
Over one of the several shared meals I had with the other women that were there, we reflected that having days on end to be on your own time - eat when you need it, sleep when your body asks for it, go outside when you craved it - put us in this mental space of total relaxation. And because of that, we could finally sit in front of our work as our most authentic selves. We could be people that our lives at home could not reasonably accommodate, and how precious having this experience was.
I do get to take a full time days in my studio, which is an incredible privilege, but there is always a hard end time. Kiddo needs to be picked up, dinner needs to be made, bedtime has to happen, and once that is through, there is no mental space to make anything else.
I often find that once I get to my flow state in the studio, there is never a natural end to it. There is always and abrupt stop, and it’s hard to pick up where I left off. I left realizing that having this time was not only wonderful, but critical in understanding myself as an artist.
I could not have pushed myself as far as I did without the encouragement, insight, and support of the artists I shared my time with. At shared meals we lifted each other through our own doubts in our practice. We cooked for each other. Inspired one another. And gave each other the grace and support through the rocky waters of trying new things.
Kari, another mom with a kiddo still at home noted how a residency in isolation would have been incredibly intense. And while the time we were there was an incredible break, two weeks was enough for us. By day 9 we were feeling the pull back home.
No artist can work in a vacuum. We need artists around that see us, to create safety in our work. All of us worked in entirely different mediums, and yet there was a universal understanding to the drive we had to make what we make.
I learned from this experience that I need to go out and spend time among other artists. I value the solitude of my studio, but community is so so so important to artists. I owe these women a huge thank you.
Left to right:
Shannon Greenwood @deepmossysleep, Kari Woo @kariwoostudio, Katherine Fraser @katherinefraser