Dispatch from Vashon Island
Look mom, I'm a writer!
Good morning from technically Maury Island, where I’m in residence at the Vashon Artist Residency. This residency is different for a lot of reasons, but the part that’s hitting home for me is that I’m here as a writer. A writer!! I’ve spent so much of my adult life and the last decade and a half telling the world, convincing myself, that I’m a photographer. Just a photographer. Oh, I only write when I have to.
But I’m a writer, too, and it feels good to say it.
I’m sidestepping the urge to see everything in visual memories I can collect, and letting my mind wander and remember. I’m calling my family members to help paint the picture, too. I’m still working on my longterm project about my mom’s migration and being here is helping me figure out how I can tell it and where my voice comes in.
At the moment I can already feel me editing myself before I’ve gotten all the words down, but since I’m approaching this as a photobook memoir I’m also thinking of how each of the elements come together. Where does the photo stand alone and when do I bring in words. How much do I say? Is this too much information?
The ancestral loss of family heirlooms, mementos, and documentation has my pendulum swinging hard the other way. Save everything. You never know when you’ll need this. We can’t forget. It’s the scarcity mindset we’ve all come to know and make offerings to with recycled Country Crock containers and the iPhone boxes we won’t throw away.
But I think there’s something sweet about it, too, and I relish my hunger for the details. I can’t wait for Theo to know that his great grandfather used to hide coins on the bed linens so when he and my mom went to change the sheets, they’d go flying in the air to surprise her. Or that when I was little, my mom put me on a strict no-preservatives diet in concern of my eczema and there’s a picture of me chomping away, standing smugly over a Little Caesar’s rectangle pizza that was bigger than me.
One of my goals for my time here is creating the outline for a manuscript, sequencing photos and drafting the chapters. I’m still developing my muscle to sit and write, but I’m finding a lot of inspiration in the water around me and the ritual of feeding myself. All in time, they both tell me.
I had to turn down a few assignments while I’ve been here but I’m pulling myself from the worry of lost work. Being here is important, too. Arguably more. Decidedly more.
I love watching the tide and feeling a mood for the day based on the water. Slack tide in this area is particularly lovely, where the water is so still it reflects everything around it. Being on the water then is ethereal, whether in misty fog or the early rays of morning. Sometimes we’ll just sit there on kayaks and float, marveling in the stillness of the water. The drip of my upturned paddle creating ripples in the sea. It’s comforting to have the water around me, whether kayaking or looking at the window. I like to think of the seas here connecting, in some way, to the seas back home—all a witness to our family story.
I’ve also been really pleased with how I’ve been feeding myself while here. It’s been so long since I’ve cooked just for me and on my own schedule, I’ve gone a little more ambitious in the kitchen than I thought I’d be. It’s not fancy but somehow I haven’t wasted any of my produce so far (a true feat for me) and when I’m chuffed over the simple act of eating the things I bought, I remember it’s a lot easier to do when your only focus is just to exist as an artist.
And after years of false starts, I’ve also begun The Artist’s Way and the simplest takeaway so far is just making time to write anything everyday.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, residencies are a gift. If art is the heartbeat of social change, then dedicating space for artists to create is also essential to that, too. If anyone is curious about artist residencies and wants to chat, please don’t hesitate to reach out. They seem to run the gamut of locations, paid vs not (Vashon does a sliding scale which I admire greatly), and some even allow your families to come (very rare in my limited experience.)
Jill, a fellow resident told me that in the past she and some friends will all rent a place together and then spend their time working separately. Come together for meals or at the end of the day. I think it’s more suited to writers or mediums that may not need as much space, but I love the idea of a trip with friends to work on creative projects in a type of parallel play or coworking (co-creating?) time. So here’s to making more time to create with our friends this year.
I’m accepting that this process will take longer than I anticipate, but I feel energized and am looking to the year with optimism I don’t usually allow myself. I hope I can keep up the momentum when it feels like there’s no time for anything because if I take anything away from this, it’s that you owe it to yourself to give your artistry its own time and space if you can.
You are a writer!