“Oh, how I yearned for space, for room to breathe, and then, poof! A solitary artist residency. 350 hours stretched before me, with only the whisper of the wind and a few curious creatures - like the blackbird peeking inside my Shepherd's hut - as company. It's only noon, and I’m afraid of the hours.”
The reflections within and the world without,
captured in both text and photos from my Cornwall residency
Join me in reliving the closing chapter of a year that felt like a vibrant rebirth. The past year wasn't just about looking into my own psyche, since I had the feeling my sense of self had gotten lost, but reshaping it. It’s the Year of the Snake — a time for shedding old skin, and that's precisely what brought me to the ancient grounds of Cornwall, a place where myths and legends hum through the air. The words you read here are loudly accompanying the images taken during my art residency in Luxulyan.
For some years, sharing my space with companions and passersby, my corners felt a little crowded, as if my inner garden had invited a few too many guests. Even with walls of my own (painted delightfully dark, by the way, perfect for a deep night's rest), my spirit felt a bit squished. My sanctuary, the place where my welcome mat meets my wild boundary, had somehow lost its sparkle. I'd become a sun-shy creature, nestled in my own dark little den, forgetting the sky's eternal blue. Do you feel me?
But thoughts, like habits, are just gentle whispers that can grow loud, especially if we keep feeding them. Over the past twelve months, surrounded by my kin, I poured my heart into playfully reclaiming my personal space. And this Cornish escapade among ancient lands — a solo art residency, a metaphor for making truly free work — isn't just an ending; it's a leap into fresh beginnings, observed by that same wise blackbird.
Rope of belongings
After moving country — even continents — some years ago, leaving invisible roots behind, I embraced the act of simply dwelling, of just being in places. I even put value with the idea of forgetting my roots entirely, watering the thought that I belonged neither here nor there.
Like author Jun'ichirō Tanizaki beautifully wrote in ‘In Praise of Shadows’, one of our most fundamental human acts is the delicate act of inhabiting — of connecting ourselves, for a moment or a lifetime, to a patch of this planet that belongs to us, and to which we belong. And fortunately, we have a multitude of allies to help us do just that.
During my residency, I embraced this as an act of love, a tender honoring of these ancient Cornwall farmlands, like planting tiny seeds in the earth, hoping to see something beautiful sprout, rather than an invasive claiming of territory.
My space, I believe, is your space.
Amidst a ritual, I unfurled a rope of belongings. Imagine a whimsical lasso, stretching fifteen meters from my cozy Shepherd's hut to the first wise old tree, standing tall long before me, and hopefully long after.
This isn't just any rope; it’s a shimmering stream of personal wonder, a string of my dearest treasures accompanying me on my journey. It’s a playful path woven with ideas, triumphs, stumbles, and the sweetest daydreams. It’s a tangible thread, a comforting connection from me to the familiar embrace of being home, and from home to the wild, temporary charm of this new nest. Adorned with personal belongings — some cherished trinkets from my past, others lovely findings discovered right here in Cornwall (given, never stolen, I promise!) — each little treasure hums its own tiny story. These are my chosen allies, joyfully joining alongside me in the act of inhabiting this space, however temporarily.
Just as nature paints its own lines, this is mine. Not a rebellious gesture, nor a claim on what isn't truly mine, but a joyful honoring of the invisible roots that tether us all.
Slogans of the mind
For a while, my inner compass spun wildly, chasing "space" outside myself. It was a merry-go-round of endless searching, a dark colored thought-habit that hummed louder than my own heart. But those spiral thoughts? They are just puffs of mind-dust.
The real truth came after finding my space back, right there where it had always been — within! It’s like discovering a hidden gem right under your nose. It took me the dark thoughts to get to the light, a gentle reminder that there is no sunshine without a little shadow. By finding space back, I made a place for expressing that space, connecting text to images as if they were slogans of the mind — baselines of my present life, so I can recognize myself in my work. Do you see me?
When you leave your home you are a guest in someone else's
It's a gentle reminder to sprinkle kindness, gratitude, and a dash of awe wherever you roam. I welcome you into my space, and yours is a welcome haven for me too! It's also a joyful testament to our shared kinship; we're all cosmic cousins. Whether it's a wise old tree, a sassy flower, a grumpy stone, a furry friend, or a human animal, there's no "them" and "us." I am, you are, we are nature — a wild, wondrous tapestry.
To cleave us from nature? That's like trying to boss around a rainbow or sell off the moon! Well, or sell trips to Mars. A classic human thought, just think of the harmful speciesist way of claiming an animal's heart. But we're woven in, a grand, interconnected dance that simply won't let us mess up our own magical backyard. No, no, no, not in my own backyard. Do you stand by me?
“I smell you! A little sniff? It's those enchanting pheromones, the chems, the chems, the chems, the delightful chemical whispers, the sheer poetry of nature linking every "I" to every "thou." Come on in, baby, make yourself at home!”
I am another of yourself
This beautiful idea, "I am another of yourself," is no secret, but a profound truth. It speaks of the cosmic threads that bind us all, from the grandest tree to the tiniest stone, from the most majestic animal to every sparkling human heart. Without needing to claim a single leaf or stone, we are all connected, twinkling stars in the same grand sky. It's the joyous hum of togetherness — (they say) I can’t sing, but boy, I can hum loud!
Only on the day before the last one, almost getting ready to pack to head back home, I realized the meaning of the blackbird that was always present during my residency. Peeking inside, curious to find me. First I thought it was a funny little bird, then I got interested in his interest and then I embraced the idea of wonder: he is my fucking smoking mirror, mirroring the reflection of freedom, and I’m here for it! This part in the residency series is about modern living and ancient wisdom, and trying to understand how to connect them better.
Stream of cards
During this residency, my days went by a charming rhythm folded into a routine - wisely guided by a therapist — not to diminish my space, but just to create extra space, not just a sense of freedom, but actual free space. Each morning was a gentle awakening: a quiet meditation, some journaling and movement or sports, and a peek at a medicine card — a tiny oracle for the day's adventures. These cards are like friendly guides, inviting you to discover your magnificent self through ancient Native wisdom. They're all about waving goodbye to old habits, gently sweeping out dusty thoughts, and flinging open the windows for fresh, sparkling possibilities that sing in harmony with your path to walk. My stream of cards during my residency are yours on request — just ask me.
When we point a finger, three are pointing right back at us
The Great Smoking Mirror peaks of the reflections of self that are seen in others. It’s one of my favorite cards to wake up with. It reminds us that everyone we meet is a reflection of our own self. When we point a finger, three are always pointing right back at us! It's a humble nudge to seek out the shared magic, the similarities, rather than dwelling on differences. And by dancing our own authentic dance, we encourage others to be bold too.
The triangle of my space
Right in front of the Shepherd's Hut I called home, there was a triangle carved in the grass. It was my — yup, completely made up and utterly fabulous proxemics —personal playground for those weeks! About triple my size, it was my exclusive zone, shared only with that same curious blackbird who'd frequently peek inside the hut, and the gentle deer who were unaware of my watchful eye. This was my free zone, my play zone, the place where I had lunch in the sunshine, danced like literally no one was watching, sang to the trees, and meditated under the open sky. And yes, sometimes, it even served for a little 'mark making' of a different, more natural kind.
“This is my completely made up and utterly fabulous proxemics. Can you feel me? “
“To be unconditionally yourself — oh, what a magnificent feeling of peace, rest, and sweet completeness! It sounds like it floats straight from a meditation class, doesn't it? Well, it does!”
My residency in Cornwall, an experience of 350 hours being alone served as the big feeling of peace to express myself. To play. Mess up with black painted charcoal hands, and try again. To be unconditionally yourself — oh, what a magnificent feeling of peace, rest, and sweet completeness! It sounds like it floats straight from a meditation class, doesn't it? And you know what? It does!
If you've made it all the way here with me, you know I was playfully teasing when I suggested your space shrinks as mine grows! On the contrary, this adventure expands for us all. This residency was a deep dive into the colorful ocean of my emotions — finding truth in every wave, even in the solitude. It was about making life joyful, lowering the 'importance' of things (while still approaching them with the greatest intention, of course!). And intentionally, it truly was. I was here on my own magnificent quest. There were moments, I confess, when I was afraid of the hours. It was a grand finale to twelve months of dedicated work, and a dazzling overture, all rolled into one beautiful experience.
All photos, texts, snapshots of delightful encounters, and glimpses of the incredible sanctuary artist Wendy Rolt created here in Cornwall, were created during my residency, in summer 2025. And now, I ask you: Do you stand by me?
