Two weeks have now passed since the end of my residency, weeks that have allowed me to spot the patterns in my responses to the many questions of 'How was it?'. Going into the residency, I imagined it to be challenging and intense and expected myself to peel away some of the habits that I have wrapped my life in. I was right on all three accounts. My project was an intensely personal one and to find it resonating with Scarlett and two other artists on my last evening has moved me more than I ever thought it would and I am deeply grateful to Jake and Scarlett for trusting me with two weeks of creative freedom.
For my project, I wasn't so much interested in the landscape or history of the estuary, instead focusing on signifiers of an old everyday life (giant buttons, the smell of charity shops, the colours of road signs, a pub) and using them to pick up a thread that was dropped years ago, to see where it would lead me. The residency has allowed me to quietly explore how a project can intuitively develop, how I can move on when I realise that my initial idea is already spent and I have a week and a half to take things further without knowing what 'further' even means, how to trust myself creatively. The black and white of my prints and paintings tie them to the poems that were the starting point for my residency, small observations typed in black on white, but over time I found myself moving away from the idea of illustrating my writing and moving towards a search for a different way of expressing what was already expressed in the poems. Once that search had started, my experiments with making different marks with different tools, including my laptop, an E guitar string, my mug, naturally changed into exercises in disciplined obsessive small format mark making until the search eventually culminated in big painted barely recognisable bodies, exploding into being in only a few minutes. In this, my prints and paintings almost by accident illustrate how difficult I find it to grasp grief and rupture, to make sense of the many layers of change that have allowed me to build up to the residency. Now, two weeks later, I can sense that the residency is not yet over for me, but will continue to shape my understanding of the creative process. Dana Ferchland
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This residency was an opportunity to spend some time within a beautiful rural setting and explore some ideas for new projects. I wasn’t too sure what to expect and had only vague ideas of what I might focus on, as I wanted to come with an open mind, to respond to the land, light and feelings I had whilst there. To be truly inspired and immersed by my surroundings.
In the residency I was able to explore my practice in new ways, with a limit on what I could bring, I took out the unnecessary and focused on what was around me. Often with the other artist in residence, Esme, I was seated by the arched windows overlooking the ever-changing estuary framed by the mist-cloaked mountains. Taking in these moments especially in the morning and at dusk to watch the thick wet* reemerge changing the view and atmosphere each moment. This ephemeral nature holds an affinity with my natural dyeing practice, one which I was eager to explore in this part of Wales. Each day on walks I went prepared to see if I might find some natural material to dye with. With eager eyes I soaked up the local area, walking, thinking and gathering, material as well as thoughts. Picking the evergreen gorse flower (Ulex europaeus), slowly one by one, deepend my appreciation of the flower, its delightful colour, coconut smell and reproachful sting should I try picking more than two blossoms at a time. Its bright sunny yellow was replicated in the small fabric swatches I dyed as well as ink I made. To be with plants from the picking to the dyeing process is an honour and for my time at the residency I dyed with plants and materials I was surrounded by, choosing carefully so as not to deplete areas of natural wildlife. Working with botanical colour gave me a grounding and a sense of place through familiarising myself with the area of the Mawddach estuary at this season, the cusp of spring. I derive a lot of joy from the processes of collecting, letting the materials lead the way. Developing a colour palette of my time in Wales these fragments have begun to take shape in different forms, from pleated, stitched and patched works. Collecting soft rush became an almost daily ritual and partially collaborative effort between myself and Esme. Both of us were drawn to the plant with its potential to be made into cordage as would previously been done for hundreds of years, learning that their strength, once dried and twisted, was once made into baskets known as kishies. With stripping the soft rush and splitting it into finer strands, the monotonous task becomes natural and second nature, the movement refined over time. Through these processes it gives you a greater appreciation for the material as well as the material objects we have around us which can often be taken for granted. I explored soft rush through cordage, weaving, stitching and net-making. With the slowness of dyeing from the walking, searching, picking and steeping, I am immersed into a different time where I feel more present, seeing the colours change before my eyes is a very special moment and has a spell-like quality. A watery sense and fluidity is often how my work is formed and like the ephemerality of nature I tried to capture those moments in which we can be in awe of the world around us. Those outer reflections can be felt in our innerselves too, connecting more deeply to our bodies, in a time we are becoming more disembodied from the natural world. As part of the residency I dedicated some time moving in and around the local area, walking but also dancing. I wanted to embody the experience of a place using improvisation techniques which asked simple yet poignant questions, bringing presence to the movement, developing a conversation between body and land. These movement studies became a memory mark of a place using canvas, clay, ink, charcoal and graphite. I collaborated with the textures of the earth with my movements creating dynamic gestural drawings. These works capture a sense of my expression, movements and feelings of the place. Being led by the materials themselves, I let go of a sense of control, I lean into the unknown. Whilst at the residency I reflected on my practice my work often varies in style yet there is a familiar thread throughout, I realise I enjoy the careful slow processes which come from the textile craft as well as the expressive and chaotic movement works which are visualised differently. My time at the residency reminded me that we do have nature around us, it is slowing down and noticing that is often overlooked. So on returning to London, where I live, I have been conscious of experiencing my surroundings with a new outlook and as well as continuing to develop the work I began on this magical residency. *Dense Mist (from Exmoor) website I came to the residency without planning exactly what I would do. I didn’t take much with me as I wanted to make use of what I came into contact with, planning to make some sculptures that would be ephemeral and natural and that I wouldn’t bring back with me. I made two sculptures from cardboard that I hand pulped and grew from small parts, coiling up from pieces of slate I found at the beach. I didn’t have a plan for their form but allowed them to grow slowly as they wished. I felt myself drawn to making vessels, enjoying their possibility and potential, their openness and readiness to be used, filled, fed. The evening before we left I placed these two sculptures into the fire. I had been thinking about dry stone walls for a while and I was finally able to meet some during my time at Mawddach Crescent. I loved being near their deep sense of time. I imagined the forming of the stones themselves and felt connected to the ancient process of arranging stones in this way. I was fascinated with how they seemed to be partly absorbed by the landscape, the gaps between the stones now homes for other living things. I felt inspired by how non-intrusive this form of making is, a coming together of human and nature in a gentle and sustainable way. I am drawn to their haphazard nature paired with a sense of care and consideration. They felt weighty and monumental as well as vulnerable and precarious. I made some drawings as well as a modelling clay sculpture with the walls in mind, and a sense of balance, stacking, and care. I spent a lot of time on the window seat looking out at the view and experiencing a sense of shifting, one that was slow over time like the forming of stones or making of mountains. And then there was the shifting of mist and the ripples of the water that were calm but swift and fleeting. The mountains seemed so steady and heavy in comparison to the mysterious mist. But even mountains move, they teach us to rest and still feel alive because in all their weight they are still breathing. I thought about contrasts and contradictions, and how I try to give space to the different parts of me when making to be both soft and slow, quick and spontaneous, both mountain and mist. Making cordage from natural fibers has been involved in my practice for a little while now and when I saw the abundance of soft rush in the environment it felt right to start collecting a small amount for making string. The name ‘soft rush’ felt like such a beautiful combination of words that felt like the name of the movement of dancing mist across the mountains. I thought of the vastness of space, of infinite distance and immediate presence - the mountains were far away and the grass was there in my hand. I took the soft rush home with me and will be slowly twisting it into cordage to use in a piece that hopefully captures a part of the landscape.
After a quick cold swim one day in the estuary and feeling my feet sinking into the silt, I wondered what was beneath the sand, and the next day I used my hands to uncover a dark coloured clay. I used the clay in a similar way to the cardboard, adding small pinches at a time to coil around and up from the slate. The second piece was made more quickly, coiling a pot and adding small pieces to its body. These two clay sculptures I titled ‘The Mountains and Me - An Offering To The Estuary’. The day before we left I placed them both on the estuary bed from where they came, allowing the water to carry them home. Making these pieces knowing that they would not last reminded me of the joy of making sand castles. I also made some drawings using the clay on paper, applying it directly with my hands which felt playful and free, with a closeness to material, an activation of the senses, and a relationship to the body. Often my work doesn’t directly visualise the world around me, instead, I aim for the work to capture a sense of the strangeness of life, its ambiguity, uncertainty, and unpredictability. Immersing myself and exploring an unknown place that was both beautiful and tangled, peaceful and mysterious feels to have re-energised me with this essence of life. It was a lesson in getting lost and feeling at home. website I found my time as artist in residence at the Mawddach Residency to be so grounding, reflective and inspiring. My aim for the residency was to allow myself the time and space to be immersed in a new environment, play around with new ideas, create from a place of no distractions and build up a body of new paintings.
I spent my time trying out new ideas, palettes and focusing on developing my work in a new direction and getting out of my comfort zone. I felt like the space and the environment around Mawddach was the perfect setting to be inspired, to sit in stillness and have the mental space to create and also felt so grateful to Jake and Scarlett for accommodating us in such a kind and giving way. Another positive to the residency was getting to know my fellow artist in residence, Molly and her lovely little dog Winnie. We had never met before but we were able to gain inspiration from eachother work’s (even though they’re so different) we were respectful of our working space whilst also co creating such a lovely positive space to work. I’m so grateful for having this time to create, to make space for a new collection of paintings and for having this time at the beginning of the year to delve fully into my work and gain so much inspiration which will provide me with endless source material for the year ahead. website As an anxious person (and driver) I hadn’t really thought past the drive to the Mawddach residency or really considered what the two weeks might hold other than a change from my usual routine. So I arrived slightly bewildered and overwhelmed by the beautiful landscape and everything the residency had to offer. I immediately felt welcomed by Scarlett and Jake who cooked me a delicious welcome dinner after I’d unpacked and walked to Barmouth (I couldn’t wait until the morning to cross that impressive bridge). On the first day I created a reduction wood engraving by the estuary and was immediately humbled by the Welsh weather when a huge gust of wind took 8 of my prints and thrust them into the estuary. A couple of days in we were joined by Ellis O’Connor who was my fellow artist resident and flatmate. We’d never met before but clicked straight away. We spent the two weeks working independently, focussed on our own work, but enjoyed chatting (when we weren’t listening to true crime podcasts) and sharing our experiences of being self employed artists. I make small prints while Ellis paints huge canvases, the scale of her work seemed to dwarf mine especially by the end of the 2 weeks when she’d painted an impressive collection of oil paintings. I loved working alongside an artist whose medium differed so much from mine while the subject matter and the way we respond to the landscape around us is so similar. I was very grateful to be able to bring my little dog Winnie on this trip with me. She loved the local walks which we did multiple times a day and was in her element by the cosy log fire in the sitting room. Winnie’s favourite resident was Toby the cat who didn’t feel the same about her and who darted up a tree after he panicked when she approached one afternoon. I loved having two weeks to just make work and not worry about admin or fulfilling orders. It was time to experiment and reassess. I created 5 reduction wood engravings and lots of collages. I also found a love of sketching with watercolours, something I’ve continued since being home. My time at the Mawddach residency felt very freeing, it seemed like I was really living each day and soaking everything in, not just rushing through while trying to tick off my forever growing to-do list. I will look back on those two weeks happily and I long for similar experiences in the future knowing that even an anxious artist can enjoy an adventure every now and then. website 'Out of Ink' Podcast episode about Molly's residency My residency was the last two weeks of January 2024, a perfect way to start the year! The first week was very cold, but very sunny, meaning that as long as I wrapped up well I could spend a lot of the day outside. I was particularly interested in the woodland or “celtic forest” of the area and on the first day I walked up to Arthog Falls. I was immediately enchanted by the thick layers of moss and lichens creating a rich green tapestry in the woods next to Arthog. My phone is crammed full of photos of all the interesting things I found. Once I was back in the Mawddach studio I thought about how I could make these out of paper clay, layering them up, but my first experiments weren’t successful. But this is part of the process, trying out new things and learning from the failures.
As well as photos I also collected materials I could use in my work. I hadn’t thought about doing this before I arrived but it seemed like an obvious way to connect my work to the landscape. I noticed there was quite a lot of dried bracken in the area surrounding the house, and decided to collect some bracken that I could burn to make ash glazes from. I’ve made glazes from wood ash before, but never collected the materials. Most ceramic materials come in plastic bags of white powders from the supplier, so being connected to the process of collecting, burning and making the glaze felt more meaningful. I’m excited to see how the glazes turn out. I’ve also collected and sieved some estuary mud which I will also test in the kiln. In the second week of the residency we were forced to spend more time inside by stormy weather. I used this time to create ‘mini sculptures’, using found objects such as moss, fallen branches and sheeps’ wool, with clay that had been imprinted with texture from slate gathered from the nearby beach and paper cut into strips and shapes inspired by the woodland lichen. As these sculptures developed I found they became more abstract. My proposal for the residency was to use the time to create a body of research which would inform my ceramic practice. Through my work I aim to create a connection with nature, but I live and work in inner London so time in the countryside is always fleeting. Now I am back in my London studio I have lots of materials and inspiration to work with; glazes to test, forms to experiment with. I can see this residency reflecting in my work for a long time. My time by the Mawddach gave me a chance to slow down and look at things around me. Inspiration can come from the little details, such as the way slate is stuck between the roots of a fallen tree. Since being back I feel like I am more observant and take time to notice the details around me, which often get missed in the rush of city life. Click on images for a larger view.. Sample of Ruth's residency reflection, read the full article on her website here. 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 Osborne, 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…
My approach to the residency was to tune into the outer season of late Autumn heading towards the Winter Solstice, while simultaneously being aware of my inner menstrual cycle. In cycle awareness, (where you are in the cycle is sometimes referred to as the inner seasons) I was also in late Autumn on arrival, descending into Winter (menstruation) and left in my inner Spring.
I listened to my body and it’s own rhythm and pace in relationship to the environment, responding and allowing this to inform my approach to the creative process. The removal of many distractions and the quiet of the residency was a real gift and provided an ideal place to slow down enough to feel moved to create in a way that was natural and authentic to me in the moment. The residency served as a container, two weeks offered as a "space for thought, reflection and creation - an opportunity to completely immerse yourself in your practice." When conditions such as these are the foundation it provides a safe and nurturing environment for those visiting. It is an act of great generosity and service on Scarlett and Jake’s part. I am grateful that I received the bursary to allow this opportunity. During the first couple of days I gently landed after a very long journey, I acclimatised and spent the time getting to know fellow resident, Asami. I went for walks both locally and further afield to familiarise with the environment, taking a DSLR camera and a small Osmo pocket action camera, and took hundreds of photos and clips. Daily rituals unfolded. Every morning I lit a candle and wrote at my desk in my room, Asami and I would pause for tea, or find ourselves having long conversations at spontaneous moments supporting one another kindly. One of the things that I found most striking and connected to from the moment I arrived was the bright yellow gorse in the late Autumn landscape, standing out amongst the neutral tones. I started collecting gorse petals in a jar as a daily ritual, as well as collecting my blood. Asami and I ended up working together in collaboration in different ways very naturally. One day we set up the camera and I curled up on my bed as I was in the depths of my inner Winter to honour this dropping inward that this time and space allowed, these safe circumstances meant I could really be still and deeply surrender and honour this time in my cycle. Asami slowly walked around and placed red thread all over my body making a symbolic cocoon and holding space for me. This felt like true inner and outer winter alignment. Over the coming days in the studio I started painting with my blood quite late into the night. As well as playing with watercolours. Listening to music this allowed for a state of gentle flow in my practice as a continuation. On the other side of inner Winter as I gently emerged into Spring I started walking further again ‘coming back out into the world’ after introspection, out of my kind of nest. I filmed Asami while they moved and danced outside and took photos witnessing their own performance which was an honour to be part of. In the last few days we lay out a big roll of paper, we both meditatively moved our bodies, they played with sound and we both drew and made marks through movement in tune with one another in the studio. We noticed the marks on the paper seemed to reflect something of the rawness of the landscape. We filmed this and took photos after. On the last day we went up on the hill close to the house, Asami filmed and gently witnessed my final intuitive ritual involving a tree, my blood, the red thread and the yellow gorse petals. I wrapped the red thread around the trunk of the tree and slowly walked around repeating in loops. This seemed to serve as a visual metaphor for meditation. Each time I slightly lost my footing on the ground or attention even very briefly the thread got a little tangled and I would stop to untangle the thread. Once untangled I would come back to my relationship to the tree and reconnect once more in the moment. The performance / ritual ended with pouring the blood to the roots of the tree to the earth and I threw the yellow gorse petals over the tree like confetti to symbolise coming back to Spring again, this felt like a small celebration. I stood quietly and felt I wanted to acknowledge that Summer would return on the other side of Winter once more. I was leaning against the tree, then felt called to jump down and I ran back into the surrounding trees into the distance, more outward energy returning. This felt complete. Asami and I had been mentally preparing how we felt about leaving in the last couple of days. By the time it came round I felt ready! When Scarlett and Jake walked me back to the station, my huge suitcase in tow, looking like something from a children's storybook; Scarlett in her yellow raincoat with red wellingtons, Jake with waistcoat and mug of tea both smiling, I was waved off feeling the warmth and glow of their spirit of generosity and kindness, a beautiful memory, my cup well and truly full. Being matched with Asami was harmonious and natural and it felt easy to do our own work and support one another by witnessing as well as collaborating. The residency experience left me with more of an understanding of my approach and ideas to continue to explore. I will be editing a film and making work from this time. It has deepened my practice, and to trust in my intuition and my relationship and understanding of our interconnectedness. This has been a validating experience for me as an Artist, I will carry this with me going forward and I wish to share what I have gained with others in my own way quite naturally. I am grateful for this gift of an opportunity. Thank you. Martina Ziewe My time at Mawddach Residency gifted me with much space and time I really needed. Artistically, it feels like I have peeled another layer of onion, digging further, deeper, closer to myself and I came back with a different perspective. It was dreamlike. I had everything I have wished for. The beauty of the natural landscapes, inspiring presences of people, the loveliest cat and most importantly: space and time. I spent every day in the state of awe at the beauty and the sounds of the surroundings. I woke up every day to the scenery of the estuary outside of the bedroom windows, presenting the cinematic view of the water with ever changing glorious dances of the ripples and the waves, which meets the mystical landscape and the sky. The sky colours the entire water often in pastel colours in pink, blue and purple at the dusk with the descending skyline in the darkness at the edge. The darkness and the silence envelop the whole place like a thick blanket, bringing calm, solitude, and serenity at night. I did not go very far and spent most of the time around the house, sometimes walked around with my big headphones on and the recorder in my hand, listening intently to and recording the ebb and flow of the water, the birds chirping, the rain dropping and my own footsteps. I savoured the ever-stretching moments of quietness while smiling at myself somehow expecting it to be disrupted by the sound of cars, which so often disturb me at my own home. Prior to the stay, I only had a vague idea of what I was going to do, but everything worked out organically in the end. My idea was to absorb the environment through my senses and different mediums such as drawing, sound and video recording, photography and translate them through movements and music and synthesize them into film. As I wanted to be fully emersed in the environment, I focused on drawing, sound/video recording whilst keeping my movement practice on and I left the editing of the film and the music till I returned. I felt fortunate to be matched with an artist who was on a similar wavelength (Martina Ziewe). Despite meeting there for the first time, we ended up having some deep healing conversations. We collaborated and helped each other recording and filming our work. Through a process of repeating practices, I explored the relationship between environment, drawing, movement, film, music, healing in different ways. Though I deeply enjoyed the time I spent at the residency, after returning I had reservations about the “point” of any of the artefacts I had produced. I had produced much, allowed myself to explore freely, but for what? This feeling of disjointedness endured while reviewing and bringing these disparate elements together, sorting images, listening to recordings, selecting and editing and footage. Yet upon layering the field recordings and music, what seemed vague and meandering suddenly felt cohesive and whole, and I became quite emotional. I discovered a new way to create music for me, which was to make a dance film as a kind of visual score and to improvise a composition along to, which in turn acted to score the film. As I watched the film, I noticed how my movement has changed from the early days of my stay to the later. The more supported I felt by the environment and the people, I was able to move more fluidly. It was as if my body absorbed the rhythms and the shapes of the nature and learned to open the senses further. As my body translated the features of the environment – the wind, the sun, the landscape, the presence of the other (my camera operator, the lovely Martina) – so again did I translate my body, mirroring it’s gestures musically, layering the film with both my improvised musical response and field recordings I had made. It feels like I had unlocked something of myself and I am eager and inspired to replicate, explore, refine this new process in other inspiring environments. Asami Nishimura website YouTube 'Two weeks being in the residency away from our lives meant that for 14 days I’d wake up and continue with ideas that I’d had the day before, that lessons learned about media could be put into practice. As Sam and I were both committed to working outdoors in the light we used the hours of darkness to talk and reflect. We set up an Instagram live channel where we talked with artists about landscape art and place. I really wanted to know how radical and revelatory making marks about being in a place could be. Pamela Petro, an American author who has examined and reflected on her relationship with Wales, told us how in Welsh language you didn’t own things you were with them. This certainly feeds into my feelings about landscape, I can't chop a rectangle out of ‘reality’ stick it on a board and hang it over the fireplace ( I’ll leave that to a post-modernist ,). I just want you to know that I was with a place at a point in time. In order for the Mawddach to be special I had to ‘not’ think of it as being special place . I had to strip back preconceptions and look again. Observational drawing rewires your connection with a place and helps you get closer to it. It lets the place into you instead of you projecting on to the place. It is so easy to say that the Mawddach Estuary is a beautiful place. You could so easily be subsumed into world of clichés. Misty mountains sweeping down to the sea, noble raptors perched on crags pondering nature’s magnificence. The sort of place that a landscape artist would want to visit, a place they would try to capture the deep longings of a sensitive soul. Everywhere in the world can be special, everywhere means something, there is no where on this planet that has a greater connection to nature than another place. When I first started doing landscape drawings I really wanted to make images that came out of being in a place. A fortnight of drawing outdoors every day was a way of removing my filters and going as deeply into the spaces around Mawddach Crescent as I could. I drew as fast and as large as I could using media and surfaces that would be responsive. I would explore working from heights then going right down to sea level to look up. When I draw as illustrator (my other job) I very often attempt to imagine scenes, create points of view that serve a story. When I draw landscapes I want to throw away pre planned scripts, circumnavigate ‘imagination’ and find something that I wasn’t aware of before.' - Francis Martin
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