Puddling in Paint

Artist residencies have always held a special place in my imagination. In my thirties, I would borrow copies of The Artist magazine from Noarlunga Library and turn eagerly to the advertisements at the back. They promised painting holidays in beautiful foreign places with expert tutors. They were well beyond my budget, but I loved imagining myself there. 

Years later, I realise I'm still chasing the residency dream, but I've begun to wonder what it is that draws me so strongly.

At first, I thought it was the travel. Artists are inspired by new places, new people and new ways of seeing. There is something invigorating about stepping into unfamiliar surroundings where curiosity naturally awakens. I recognise that feeling in my own life as I exhibit my work, teach emerging artists, draw at historic houses, travel to Australia to visit family, and return to England's ever-changing seasons. New experiences continue to nourish my practice.

Yet I don't think the place itself is what I most long for.

What a residency really offers is something much rarer: permission. Permission to put ordinary life to one side and give yourself wholeheartedly to looking, thinking and puddling in paint. Time becomes slower. Attention deepens. Ideas have room to surface and develop.

What I've been searching for all along is a different way of inhabiting time.

Could the essence of a residency be created wherever an artist happens to be?  I suspect the dream I've carried for all these years may be less about finding the perfect place and more about discovering a mind space for artistic fulfilment and freedom.  

I’m house/dog/garden sitting. Could I make this a residency?