This week we entered June, meaning that I am on the last stretch of my residency. In some ways I cannot believe that it is almost over. In other ways I feel as if I have been here forever. The strange cold planet that I landed on in March, covered in ice and snow and a play of pink and blue pastel colours, has now made way to a drastically different world that is currently rather brown, rainy and bleak - albeit still stunning in its own way. I guess this is what Arctic summers are like? It is strange to think that when I left Oslo in mid-March, I was dragging my luggage through a snow storm. Now I will be returning to a city filled with lush green parks and find that all of my summer clothes are stacked away and my Christmas lights are still up - probably to the chagrin of some of the neighbours.
I initially wanted to write a long insightful essay about the Norwegian Minister of Justice and Public Security’s visit to Svalbard this week, but I find that I want to talk about residency life.
My brain experienced a bit of a shut down at the end of last week. I was feeling dizzy, I was unable to sleep and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. While I am sure printmaking chemicals do little to mitigate this, I realised I had been pushing my head, body and creative capacity to the limit. Whenever I was not in the studio, I was sketching, writing or reading relevant research. When trying to fall asleep, I was running through the steps and tasks for the next weeks and even months ahead. The only time I took a few hours off was when I needed to cook or do housework.
Being on a sponsored long-term residency such as this one, it is easy to chastise yourself unless you work all day, every day. While ARTICA encourages slow thinking and reflection and never puts pressure on us to perform, we as artists often do. After all, when will we ever find the space and time to be this productive at home? Back in Oslo, I rush between work, meetings, projects and different studios, while at the same time also trying to uphold a large social circle. Hours each week are spent commuting in tightly packed underground carriages. It is such a rare opportunity to be granted three whole months to work in a large beautiful space with all the necessary equipment at the ready, and where your commute consists of a pleasant ten minute walk past beautiful mountains and a coffee shop. All you can think about is how you want to make the most of it. A residency is definitely a relaxing escape from your life and obligations at home, but paradoxically it can also be a period where you are placing an immense amount of expectation on yourself to be productive. It is easy to forget that just like in “real life”, you need to strike a balance if you are going to be able to hang in there for the long haul.
I am very glad that I had a visit from two good friends this week, which forced me to take some much needed days off. I found immense pleasure taking them on a guided tour of Longyearbyen in a rare spell of beautiful sunshine. My spirits rose immensely, and I regained my motivation. Going forward, I will remember to maintain a better work-life balance, and also make sure I do not forget to soak in the beauties of Svalbard in between studio-sessions. Perhaps even make use of that yoga mat that I always seem to bring with me, but never touch.
Mentally I am now slowly emerging from my residency bubble, preparing my mind for my return home in a couple of weeks. At some point you realise that you need to start facing your taxes, e-mails and bills again, because unfortunately, life at home continues even though you have temporarily abandoned it.
While I spent the first few weeks of my residency throwing myself over any new research and info on Svalbard that I could possibly lay my hands on, I am now attempting to wrap up the projects I have started and instead focus on reflection. I am beginning to think about my future. What aspects of life in Longyearbyen do I like and wish to take back with me? Are there things back home that I am currently dissatisfied with and wish to change upon my return? I cannot quite pinpoint how yet, but I know I want to make some changes to the way that I structure my timetable, ensuring that less of my precious studio time is eaten away by daily chores, random errands and phone distractions, and instead find ways of slowing down and go into longer continous stretches of deep focus. I also want to continue this new and more playful approach to art that I have adapted through this residency, learning to actively engage with and utilise my direct surroundings for artistic inspiration rather than always being so introspective. Last, but not least, I want to feel closer to my local community and seek out the trails and activities that my immediate surroundings have to offer - the way that I do here.
I had a lovely farewell lunch with a fellow artist the other day, as she too will soon be leaving Svalbard after several weeks of travelling around the archipelago. Our emotions consist of immense gratitude, mixed with a tinge of melancholy. One of the things we talked about is how life changing a residency can be, and how we are both scared of the feelings we may or may not have to confront once we get home. How will we feel about living in a big city after Longyearbyen? Will urban society feel alienating, and can we make it less so? Will we, as young female artists, ever manage to balance a seemingly restless artist life with potentially settling down in the future?
I do not think you can spend weeks in a place like Svalbard and not feel altered in some ways. My fear is that the human talent for adapting will make me just forget everything I experienced up here and go back to life exactly the way it was. How to make sure this will not just feel like a distant dream?
To round things up on a positive note: I am very excited to finally announce that I have an upcoming solo show in Oslo opening on the 29th August at Kunstverket Galleri, and there I will be showcasing a large portion of the works produced during my residency.