Reflections on an artist residency

In January, I took part in a three-week residency that grew out of a five-day experience the previous June. After that initial residency, artist and teacher Emily Ball invited us to consider returning for a longer stay—she would be present for the first week, and we would continue independently for the remaining two. It felt instinctively right to say yes.

I ordered six new canvases, reorganised my sketches, and arrived full of anticipation at the thought of painting for three uninterrupted weeks. Alongside that excitement, I carried a quiet anxiety about sustaining creative momentum. I know myself well enough to admit that I can be easily distracted, sometimes postponing studio work until it feels urgent. This residency felt like an opportunity to gently challenge that pattern.

I signed up because I needed a genuine reset—a committed stretch of time to deepen my practice and to be surrounded by like-minded artists. I hoped for shared conversation, shared doubts, and the unspoken understanding that comes from working alongside others who know what it means to navigate creative uncertainty.

The group dynamic exceeded every expectation. It was warm, generous, and deeply respectful. Conversations flowed naturally between art, artists, home life, studio life, and motivation. We laughed often, recognised when someone needed solitude, and instinctively offered encouragement when it mattered. There was real care in the room—space for privacy, honesty, and emotion.

I worked through all six prepared canvases, then found four smaller square ones to continue on. When that scale began to feel restrictive, I turned to unstretched canvas from the studio. Over the three weeks, my work shifted and evolved. By the final days, I felt I had arrived at a way of working that was authentically mine. I was genuinely surprised by both the quantity and the quality of what I produced. Some pieces feel complete; others hold space for further exploration—and that feels exciting rather than uncertain.

The greatest challenge was learning to keep going through tiredness, boredom, or frustration. Watching how the other artists worked—how they persisted, paused, or took restorative breaks—helped me become more comfortable with my own discomfort. Instead of stepping away or seeking reassurance, I stayed with the process. I allowed myself to make a mess and trusted that the image would slowly emerge. I was reminded that it is only paint—and that my way through creative blocks is simple: keep working, pause, reflect, and begin again.

Working alongside Emily in the first week was grounding and reassuring. Observing her process up close was invaluable. When she left, the first couple of days felt like painting without a safety net. Yet that absence quietly strengthened us. We leaned on one another, and the group held itself with confidence and care.

I know that had I been in my own studio, I would not have shown up every day, all day. Frustration might have led me to step away, to let the paint dry and the work sit untouched for months. The structure of the residency—and the presence of others—made sustained attention not only possible but deeply rewarding.

Since returning home, I’ve already felt the shift. Beginning a new textile project, I encountered difficulties that I would previously have abandoned. Instead, I kept going. The residency has strengthened my trust in myself—to stay with uncertainty, to work through resistance, and to believe that I can make strong work independently.

It was an honour and a gift to be part of this residency with such talented, intuitive, and sensitive artists. I would wholeheartedly take part in another three-week residency. Whether I continue with the same subject matter or explore something new remains open—but that openness feels like possibility rather than doubt.