Residency reflections — Ruth Broadway

Last month I had the very fortunate experience of being one of the artists selected for the Mawddach Artist Residency, in north Wales. I shared the experience with Ellie Osborn, a fine art ceramicist. We’d not met before the residency, but I couldn’t have selected a better person to share the experience with; we are both quite quiet and found we were happy to work equally in comfortable, companionable silence or with easy, good-humoured conversation.

Scarlett and Jake, our hosts and artists in their own rights, have created something really special in the top floor portion of a grand old terraced ‘town’ house: A space for residents to live and work for 2 weeks, to create and indulge in new ideas whilst surrounded by the most stunning of environments. The constantly changing view from the studio window of the tidal river estuary was at times distracting in the most blissful way. I could honestly have sat in the window seat and taken in this view and done nothing else and have felt satisfied that I’d used my time wisely!

But, this isn’t actually what I did…

Before arriving on the residency, I had been making hand-stitched coats that incorporate stories and secrets in their linings. And I knew I wanted to pursue this somehow. I was interested in looking at seasons of change and cycles of nature & ageing; contemplating the layers of clothing that we put/pass on as we grow, and wrappings that get unravelled and rewoven to hold the subtly transformed bodies that we live in throughout our lives. Like snakes shedding skin or Russian dolls; bodies nesting inside other bodies; or moths regenerating inside cocoons.

As a general rule, when I’ve taken residencies before I have tended to pick things up as I go, and tell stories as I find them. I like to arrive with loose plans and lots of resources; opening myself up to the ways that solitude, silence and an inspiring environment guides my work and feeds my practice when I return home. I really feel like this - allowing and trusting that wandering off the path and being prepared to get lost and open myself up to something unknown - has worked for me again, something I find hard to achieve as much as I’d like in my day-to-day studio practice.

My aim this time was to make coats to represent skins, and contemplate the different phases of our lives, how we sometimes shed these versions of ourselves like silver birch bark or layer-up the coats [like our experiences and wisdom] to toughen up our skins like warriors putting on armour. Prior to coming away I happened to select myself the most perfect listening companion to my residency in the form of an audio telling of Holly Ringland’s book, The Seven Skins of Esther Wilding. There were so many echoes of the ideas in my work with her words; Folk tales of Selkies and Swan maidens; relationships between mothers, daughters and sisters; Mental health, tattoos and skin spells… so I leaned into this narrative. Seven is often a number used in folk tales to represent magical things or the arch of a journey or a trial (it also happens to be the date I was born and the house number I live at) and so I decided to set myself the task of making seven simple coats as my own ‘seven skins’. I’d intended to sew these by machine, but a missing part meant that in the end I stitched these by hand. I liked how this felt like the characters in fairy tales who have to toil over challenges to pass a gatekeeper! So, for the first 7 days, as well as going out and exploring my surroundings, I stitched 7 coats from plain muslin fabric, to act as blank canvases for the work to come. I had no expectation that this collection of coats would be completed, and full of the stories I wanted them to tell, in these 2 weeks away, but be just the beginning of a new series…

COAT 1 : I collected brackish water from the tidal estuary right outside my front door to represent an inconstant. A river of change. The futility of holding back the tide - accepting and allowing and embracing each high and low tide and what subtle new version of itself it brings.

I stitched pockets into this coat in a consciously futile attempt to hold and preserve and save the tide. I mixed Indian ink with the river water simply to stain and reveal what is normally invisible. I then froze the ink/saltwater mix as if to hold back the tide and halt the passing of time.

I filled the pockets of the coat with the frozen brine/ink cubes. see here It seemed faintly ridiculous to be expecting anything much to happen for quite some time as the temperature outside where is hung was only a few degrees above freezing itself. Ironic to have been creating ice in an electric freezer when all around me were frozen puddles and frost. However, I was delighted to discover that after less than an hour some melting had occurred. I think perhaps the strong wind might have aided the process.

I was thinking about subtle constant changes within me (within all of us). I was thinking about aging and my daughters growing up. Changes in how we need each other. Changes in how we see the world. Changes in our bodies. Changes in the roles we take on. Changes in how we see ourselves. Changes in how we love each other.

I was looking at the way my identity as a mother has changed as my children have grown. How showing love was easier to give and easier for them to receive, with kisses and cuddles, bedtime stories and plasters on grazes, the need for each other was much plainer to see. Wondering who I am now that my children don't want that kind of love anymore. We show love differently now. I love that they're growing and changing, and so am I. We're all adapting and re-shaping like rocks subtly reformed over time with the lapping of the sea.

For some reason I was taken aback at what I found on my return to the garment. I wasn't expecting the drips to feel so sad, like salty tears falling down a cheek, or the black blood seeping from multiple stab wounds. There is aguish and grief in this piece that I was unprepared for. see here

When the water had drained away and the coat was completely dry, I have found in each pocket a small nugget of inky salt, like a dark crystal treasure made because of this process of loss and change.

I really am not interested in stopping time, but I am fascinated by watching it pass. I want to notice the changes and I want to feel the echoes of what came before. I love equally the the thrill of being on the cusp of newness and the melancholy and grief of leaving a part of oneself behind.

COAT 2 : I took this second 'skin' out to feel the full force of Storm Isha (that hit while I was in Mawddach) see here and it came back pretty battered and bruised. I began to - and continue to, even 2 weeks later - slowly tend to each wound; mending with fine stitches and sutures. The mending was not invisible, the scars will remain forever, but the red thread speaks for love (and for pain). This work is love. I was thinking a lot about teenage mental health and self-harm, and supporting someone going through this. I think this will be a slow and evolving piece of work and may continue for some time to come.

COAT 3 : Is still a work-in-progress, I was thinking about aging and Wabi Sabi and finding acceptance and appreciation of the skin we're in. Finding beauty in imperfection and transience and not thinking of aging as decline, deterioration or irrelevance, but revelling in the softening, the slowing and the weathering.

The words on the coat read : I see peaceful surrender in each line, enhancing beautifully her years... (Influenced by words written by Leigh Morrow about her grandmother).

I'm sharing this piece despite not really being happy with the outcome so far. It's not complete; it's asking me to keep enquiring. I attempted to use Batik (something I haven't done for 30 years, since I was at school), I was hoping to achieve a crackled effect that might convey wrinkling skin, but it really hasn't come out as I anticipated, but I'm OK with that, this part was only ever going to be the backdrop for other ideas, and that hasn't changed, there is more to come...

In the woodland behind the house, I picked up fragile skeleton leaves to appreciate their aging beauty and some rotting silver birch twigs with their lovely flaking bark. Shedding skin. I tattooed the skin with inky pin pricks... I rather like this as a concept and I think I'll follow up the idea in the future. I've discovered how much I enjoy piercing holes into things!

I swam, I stitched, I made, I sat, I read, I watched, I listened, I walked, I talked, I drew and I was drawn. What a special couple of weeks it was, a truly wonderful experience. I feel so lucky to have been selected for this brilliant opportunity, although I felt sad to leave this tranquil place behind I know this will feed my work for a good while to come, including contributing to the solo exhibition I have coming up in next month, Time and Tide

(Time and Tide at Black Swan Arts, in Frome , Somerset, UK 2nd March - 14th April).

Thank you Jake and Scarlett for EVERYTHING (including helping us carry our bags to the train station on a our last morning in a mini farewell procession!)