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As an artist, you're a one-person powerhouse. You're the creator, of course, but you also wear hats as the administrator, accountant, marketer and the increasingly essential role of content creator. It's a lot to juggle, and I, like many artists I've spoken with, find the content creation part often feels like the biggest hurdle.

I was listening to a podcast recently where they were talking about brand identity. The advice being given was that artists, especially early in their careers, should figure out “their brand,” find a niche, develop a recognisable style, and stick to it. The theory was that if you pivot and try something new, you risk losing your audience. As someone who works in marketing and is also an artist, I found this pretty troubling.

I wasn’t sure if I’d share this project publicly. It was made specifically for an art award, but after being rejected, it no longer had a place. It was only seen in real life by a handful of people. But the process behind it, that’s the part that still holds meaning. This work, Plastisphere, was three years in the making. But the work no longer exists.

An art residency, I’ve come to realise, is the Eat, Pray, Love experience for an artist, a chance to step away, surrender to slowness, and rediscover joy in the act of making. In the film, Elizabeth Gilbert leaves behind her familiar life to eat, pray, and love her way through Italy, India, and Bali, not just for pleasure, but to search for answers and to reinvent herself. That is what I find myself craving from another residency. I want to make a pivot in my practice, but I