First Look - Pouch Cove Foundation Artist Residency

The final remnants of autumn’s splendor by the boat launch in Pouch Cove, Newfoundland. ©Amy Guion Clay

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” Henry Miller

This is when it begins - something new, something longed for, yet still unformed. The way ahead is blank, unknown, anticipated. I’ve been looking forward to beginning this coming year of residencies in Newfoundland, and am honored to be invited to spend 7 weeks at Pouch Cove Foundation Residency.

Then reality sets in. The descent into St. John’s, Newfoundland, was initiation by gale force wind. There was even the question whether we would be able to land and might be diverted elsewhere. The winds blasted us to and fro, but the pilots finally landed the great beast to grateful applause (and no doubt buckets of sweat).

On my walk - the concrete base of this boat house painted with murals. ©Amy Guion Clay

Once I arrive at camp in the middle of the night, I drop my heavy load, take a deep breath and hit the sack. And with the new day, I’m chomping to go for a wander. Walking is how I begin to see, really see. It’s the best way to really know a place. At first glance, everything feels fresh, magical, not jaded with repeated exposure.

This village was built around the sea. There are stories of heroism (The WaterWitch Shipwreck tragedy for one), and also the good and bad times of the industries that sustained and/or broke this remote community.

Tourmaline shades of seafoam against black rocks. ©Amy Guion Clay

Of all the things to do in this big wide world, my favorite is to walk a rugged, rocky coastal cliff path. The East Coast Trail passes through Pouch Cove, part of a trail that stretches 336km along North America's easternmost coastline. I am already becoming acquainted with the first few local miles of the trail, but I’m anxious to venture further beyond the next bends, and so on and so on.

A sculpted water chamber along the trail. ©Amy Guion Clay

I’m reminded of the rugged coasts of Scotland and Ireland that I have walked over the years, and it’s no surprise that most of the New World migrations came from that part of the north Atlantic. I could easily be walking the edge of the Scottish Isle of Skye, or Dingle peninsula in Ireland.

The windswept trees cling to the slopes of the East Coast Trail near Pouch Cove. ©Amy Guion Clay

So now that I have a sense of the lay-of-the-land, it’s time to get into the studio. Marks are beginning to emerge but I’ll save that for another day. There is ample enough visual imagery to set me on my way, but I’m allowing the unfolding in it’s own time.

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