ART TRAVEL - Truth and Fiction Pt. 1

“You must be so excited!”

A wild and crazy storm at Pouch Cove, Newfoundland Nov. 26, 2019. The wind so intense it almost knocked the phone out of my frozen hands. See the video/audio version for the full effect on my Instagram feed. © Amy Guion Clay

This is what I usually hear before launching on an extended trip. And the artist residencies can be exciting - the new environments/cultures/landscapes, the people to meet, the potential masterpieces I’ll be creating (if only!).

But as a seasoned traveler, my real answer would be: Yes, and, well, maybe.

It’s not so much about being excited as it is about having a full and rich creative experience. That may sound vague but let me explain.

Weathered paintings of the Cove hung on the side of a random old building, Pouch Cove. ©Amy Guion Clay

Some might imagine romantic artist gatherings, delighting each other with deep dissertations on the meaning of art and life. Living the bohemian lifestyle: black beret, snapping fingers, beatific quips of insight, brilliance. Insta-worthy selfies by crumbling ancient walls. The humble brag - look at me, I’m a wild and free artist!

Some truth. A lot of fiction.

The kind of travel that I do - most specifically to artist residencies - is not like going to some kind of luxe resort by a tropical beach or staying in a fab north-light facing studio in the Parisian Latin Quarter. These residencies are often remote, funky, and sometimes duct taped together.

And like the photo above, there are sometimes storms, delays (literal and metaphorical), residencies that close and leave you high and not necessarily dry. Variable group dynamics that would make a great reality TV show or inspire fast friendships. Art supplies that were ordered and never show up, but that shifts a new direction in your work.

Each residency is a mixed bag. You might feel lonely as the only artist, or have a large group of rowdy drinkers that make it hard to sleep at night. The studio might be spacious and enviable, but there is little else to do in a remote location. The culture might be exotic and fascinating, but the accommodations are basic and falling apart.

Beauty in the details. My most favorite color - natural iron seeping out of the rocks into a pool. Pouch Cove ©Amy Guion Clay

And life back home doesn’t pause while you are away. Sometimes issues become even more intense without the anchor of the familiar - in my case an elderly parent who is declining, a rental property that has malfunctions, part time design work that needs immediate attention.

So after some 20+ residencies, and countless other kinds of travel, I’m well aware of the unpredictability and variables that travel throws at you. But despite the resistance, that’s the rush (and the point).

Striations of quartz in the rocky coastline. ©Amy Guion Clay

So to stay sane, It calls for presence - to see the beauty in the small things, not just the dramatic and oversized. And it necessitates the ability to step away from judgement (is this a good situation or bad?) and see each new experience with curiosity and an open heart.

One of my favorite Zen stories - Hsien Lost His Horse - illustrates it perfectly.

One day, Hsien lost his horse - the villagers all came to say how terrible it was!
He said, maybe.

The next day, the horse came back with a mate. The villagers all came to congratulate him - how great, he now has 2 horses!
He said, maybe.

The next day, his son was riding the new horse, fell off and broke his leg. The villagers came to say how tragic!
He said, maybe.

The next day the Army came to conscript soldiers for a coming battle. They rejected his son because of his injury. The villagers said how lucky for you!
He said, maybe.

And on and on it goes.

I wish I was that Zen.

Works in progress. Lots of space to spread out in my studio at Pouch Cove Foundation. ©Amy Guion Clay

Because even still, I’m often broadsided when things go awry. I default to momentary panic, worst case scenarios and a feeling that all is lost.

Messes happen, just like in painting. We make a mark and judge the shit out of it. We might resist it so much we hate it and want to give up. Yet if we release judgement and just stay curious, we often get to the other side and it’s better than we could have predicted.

The Cove when the sun shines. ©Amy Guion Clay 2019

The fact, and beauty, of it is - you really don’t know what you’ll get. And that’s why I do this. For better or worse, I want to experience all of it. I’m antsy with the too-familiar. I want to be in the world and find growth in the letting go. I have greedy eyes that want to see it all.

So this isn’t about living a glossy Instagram perfect life for all to drool or gag over. I’m not looking for others to idealize or envy this life, but to share in the process of figuring it out - whether on the road or at home. And mostly, to respond to the world around me and find some kind of expression that reflects that.

A poignant reminder - LIVE NOW! Headstone in a foggy graveyard, Pouch Cove, Newfoundland. ©Amy Guion Clay

So am I excited to be on the road again? Yes! Do I wake up many days and wonder what the hell am I doing here? Yes! Do I miss my friends/family back home? You betcha, achingly so. Do I make lifelong friends around the globe - indeed! Do I expect all sunshine and artful unicorns - no! (as the wet Atlantic rain pounds my studio window here in Newfoundland). And would I have it any other way - not a chance!

I’m just learning how to live a creative life with as few limitations as possible and to wonder in the diversity of the world around me. I welcome you to join me.

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