2024 SOUTH TEXAS ARTIST IN RESIDENCE
FOR THE ART CENTER OF CORPUS CHRISTI AND
THE TEXAS A&M UNIVERSITY-CORPUS CHRISTI’S CENTER FOR COASTAL STUDIES
In June of 2024, I had the most incredible experience as a resident artist. The residency was in two parts. The first, a solo, five-night stay in an off-the-grid research station on a spoil island in the Laguna Madre. The second, a week at the Art Center of Corpus Christi to make art inspired by my island retreat.
The boat ride out to the island was fast and bumpy. Winds were 20-30 mph, creating waves that hit the boat and battered my body, but I was all smiles. I couldn’t wait to be alone on my little island.
The boat ride out to the island was fast and bumpy. Winds were 20-30 mph, creating waves that hit the boat and battered my body, but I was all smiles. I couldn’t wait to be alone on my little island.
My days were filled with exploring, reading, photographing, journaling and meditation painting as I reflected on and responded to the life around me. An internal struggle surfaced as my ego battled for control and judged my progress, both in my paintings and in my life. I reminded myself to focus on the process and not the outcome, and to approach my subject with curiosity and respect so that I was learning from and not trying to capture the life around me. I chose to embrace failure, allowing myself the freedom to experiment. It took a few days to settle into the space. Usually, my time outdoors is limited- a few hours at a nature center where I rush to capture what I can before heading home. On the island, time stretched on and by midway through I had checked all the tasks off my list, and it was time to slow down and notice the little things both in and out of myself. |
This was when I first noticed my friend, the Willet. While most birds flew away as I approached, I noticed one was following me. I slowed down, observing. He called and bobbed his head. I did the same. He came closer and chattered on for a long while. I sat and listened. I bobbed and called back. During the hottest part of the days, I sat in the breezeway to stay cool. I brought with me a textbook that covered the history, ecology and culture of the Laguna Madre. In it, I read about a community of anglers who spent their summers and weekends with family and friends in this hyper-saline lagoon, staying in rustic fishing shacks sometimes for weeks on end. In the 1970’s, after witnessing the effects of overfishing, members of this fishing shack community organized to form what is now the Coastal Conservation Association, one of the largest and most influential organizations of its kind. I was reminded of the incredible power in fighting for the things we love, and recognition that we can’t love something without connection.
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In my rustic accommodations I left open windows and doors fostering my own connections with life around me, I watched the fishing Egrets, simultaneously graceful, and goofy. The Willet I made friends with on day three came to see me every time I left my bunkhouse- talking and bobbing his head, inching closer, but never too close. The island was full of butterflies and wildflowers. I battled the wasps that flew in and out of my bunkhouse. Laughing I watched a Gull trying to eat too big a fish, yelling at any other Gull who got too close. I looked at him and thought- yes- that’s what my life feels like right now- wrestling with a meal that’s too big, so I stay at it, picking it apart piece by piece.
I noticed that the lines that separate worlds are not as stark as I would have imagined. Fish jump out of water, gulping air. Birds dance in the shallows. Sitting on the dock, I watch the water move in and out in complex ripples, while seaweed along the shore mirrors similar movements. Again, the wisdom of complexity reveals itself and there is more truth in gentle transitions than oversimplified designations. A truth also seen in people and all parts of life if we choose to notice.
Overhead I saw Ibis, Skimmers, Spoonbills, Pelicans, and Barn Swallows. I heard crickets and birds and boats and flies. I heard the croaking of Herons and Egrets when they landed and took off. I heard the gentle lapping of water.
I’ve ached for this experience for as long as I can remember- a seed planted as a child wandering my grandparents’ farm, never wanting to return to the suburbs. And as I wait for the boat to pick me up and return me to a land full of virtual communities and artificial environments, I was sad and even a little scared to leave.
I returned in week two to complete my residency at the Art Center of Courpus Chrsti. There I met beautiful and interesting people. I listened to their stories and shared mine. I allowed myself to experiment, playing with scale and materials. And while I don’t know how things will progress as I return home with the demands of business and motherhood, I know I am changed for my experience.
I noticed that the lines that separate worlds are not as stark as I would have imagined. Fish jump out of water, gulping air. Birds dance in the shallows. Sitting on the dock, I watch the water move in and out in complex ripples, while seaweed along the shore mirrors similar movements. Again, the wisdom of complexity reveals itself and there is more truth in gentle transitions than oversimplified designations. A truth also seen in people and all parts of life if we choose to notice.
Overhead I saw Ibis, Skimmers, Spoonbills, Pelicans, and Barn Swallows. I heard crickets and birds and boats and flies. I heard the croaking of Herons and Egrets when they landed and took off. I heard the gentle lapping of water.
I’ve ached for this experience for as long as I can remember- a seed planted as a child wandering my grandparents’ farm, never wanting to return to the suburbs. And as I wait for the boat to pick me up and return me to a land full of virtual communities and artificial environments, I was sad and even a little scared to leave.
I returned in week two to complete my residency at the Art Center of Courpus Chrsti. There I met beautiful and interesting people. I listened to their stories and shared mine. I allowed myself to experiment, playing with scale and materials. And while I don’t know how things will progress as I return home with the demands of business and motherhood, I know I am changed for my experience.