After the Wave: Finding Stillness Post-Residency

After an intense summer spent in motion — creating new work during an artist residency, preparing an online exhibition, and taking part in a trio show with artists who also work with recycled materials — I find myself in a different kind of studio now: one made of stillness. The pace has shifted. The urgency that carried me through months of making has quieted, and in its place is a softer, slower rhythm that asks for attention of a different kind.

Residencies often exist in their own kind of time. They compress and expand simultaneously — each day feels dense with possibility, yet the weeks slip past almost too quickly to grasp. During my residency, I was completely immersed in material exploration and the physical act of making. My apartment smelled of and was covered in seaweed — waiting in the refrigerator, soaking in my sink or on the counter, drying on a rack, slowly being woven on my kitchen floor or table. Needless to say, during this time I only invited open-minded, curious company into my apartment! Ha!

The momentum carried forward into the exhibitions that followed. Seeing the work leave the studio and enter public space — both digitally and physically — brought a kind of closure, but also a peculiar disorientation. The energy of creating and sharing is both exhilarating and depleting. After everything quieted, I realized how much I had been holding.

There’s a temptation to rush to the next project, to stay in motion so the momentum doesn’t fade. I wish I could say that I naturally paused. Instead, I fell ill the eve of the trio exhibition and was in bed for the next two weeks. I’ve come to see that the pause is not an interruption — it’s part of the rhythm. This is the composting stage of creativity. The space where things quietly decompose, recombine, and prepare to take new shape.

Now, in this pause, I’m noticing the small things again: the sound of waves, the shifting color of light in the studio, the textures of leftover algae fibers waiting to be reimagined. This slowing down isn’t a retreat from artmaking — it’s a continuation of it in another form. Just as materials transform through time, rest is its own form of transformation. It allows the unseen connections to surface, the threads between ideas to weave themselves without force.

I am so thankful for the residency with GlogauAIR, and the collaborative exhibition with Sorrel Penelo and Sarah Zbidi. Both opportunities provided support which helped me to explore new materials, ideas, and ways of connecting to the audience. These experiences reminded me that art is sustained not only by solitary moments in the studio getting lost in the making, but also by the shared spaces, generous help, and exchange of ideas. As I let these recent experiences settle, I carry forward a deeper sense of gratitude — for the people, places, and materials that continue to shape the evolving rhythm of my practice.