For the entire month of January, 2025, I participated in my first artist residency at Arteles Creative Center, nestled away in rural Finland. Arteles is one of the largest international residency centers in Scandinavia, and regularly post open calls to their thematic, one-month programs for artists and writers.

When I first discovered the “Silence, Existence, Awareness” open call last year, I had goosebumps just reading the description.

Daily group meditation, two scheduled days of silence per week, sauna, limited internet, library, open art studios, dark winter days, and endless forest right at the front door. A dream. Yet I told myself I wouldn't ever get invited to something like this, wasn't established enough as an artist, that my portfolio and experience was too small - so I brushed it off (or attempted to).

Days passed and I was still thinking about Arteles.

I asked myself, "The worst that can happen is you don't get to go, so why not try?". I've been working on listening to gut feelings and this seemed like a call from my intuition. I applied, then moved on, and briefly forgot about it.

I received my invitation in August for participation in the January 2025 program, and was stunned. I was very scared and uncertain about accepting, but knew I couldn’t pass on an experience I felt called to.

Thinking back to the application, I wrote that my primary reasons for wanting to attend were based on the fact that I was dealing with burnout. I’ve personally had a turbulent few years and have been working non-stop to maintain a full-time art career in between - I felt as though I was slowly losing the passion for my books along the way, and I was tired. The idea of living in rural Finland during winter and darkness, stillness and quiet, all compelled me so deeply, and I had the thought that this time to sit with myself would allow me to reconnect with something I was missing. And it did.

What I did not expect, though, was a period of significant realisations, self-acceptance, and friendship.

Myself and eleven others from around the globe arrived at Arteles on January 2, wide-eyed and nervous about what we would face throughout the month that followed. The first week is still a little bit of a blur.

I was brought to my room in a yellow building lovingly called “Timber House”, which used to be an old school for the village. Upon entering, I felt an immediate sense of calm and ease. The room itself had beautiful, exposed timber walls, and two huge windows with a view of the sky above. There was not a sound all around me, other than the floor boards that creaked as I moved, and I could feel pressure in my ears from the silence.

I looked at a mirror on the wall and noticed pieces of paper poking out beside it, stuck between some of the timber beams. I approached them, gently pulled out the first that caught my eye, and read “The song you heard singing in the leaf as a child is singing still. -Mary Oliver”. Tears began to flow. It all felt serendipitous.

My first night, I had a dream about a moth by the window ledge. It buzzed and buzzed, getting louder as I approached it, until I noticed that on its wings were mandala images - spiraling. This influenced some illustrations I created later in my stay here.

Despite the initial good feelings, I struggled with such an intense sense of urgency.

Without my usual routine and distractions (emails, social media, projects, commissions, errands, chores, events), I was so aware of time and how many more hours I now had in the day to create new work, read new books, and take long walks. I read two books in just a few days and got straight to work in the studio. I was feeling ambitious, but anxious, and unsure of what I really “needed” to be doing with my time.

I quickly learned I was stuck in a mindset tied to productivity and an impulse to stay busy.

When I stopped to think about it, I essentially believed I had to earn my right to exist, that I didn’t deserve to slow down, and that I couldn’t take a moment just to sit with myself.

By day 6 or 7, I decided to remove my watch and committed myself to going where the wind took me.

Around the time that I stopped wearing my watch, I had a one-on-one session with an alumni resident, who was with us for 10 days in order to teach something called Alexander Technique.

From what I learned, Alexander Technique is a movement based treatment for stress relief and chronic conditions. Many of us enjoyed learning about this, and often joked about how we felt we no longer knew how to walk or sit properly now that we were hyper aware of our bodies, and the proper, healthier ways to move.

During my class, the phrase “take up space!” was repeated to me as I was directed to walk around the room. At first, it didn’t register. I continued to walk in a limited circle, feeling incredibly awkward. The phrase was repeated again and I felt myself tense up, not wanting to look silly as I walked around this large room.

Then I heard, “Take up as much space as you want! Don’t be afraid. The world is yours!”

The resident, Ji, approached me, adjusted the collar on my sweater, and looked into my eyes - “You can take up space” is all she said, and I felt a lump rise in my throat.

Later that evening, I passed her again in the kitchen as I was about to prepare some tea.

We exchanged pleasantries, then somehow got into a conversation about artists and how we can often get stuck in cycles of creating and doing the same things, afraid to truly show others who we are. Then she said, “When I finally saw the art that you make, your books, then I understood you. You burrow in, so small.”

I smiled and hesitantly said “This morning in the session with you, I got a little emotional. This idea of taking up space is so difficult for me. Even just being here is hard.”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “You deserve to take up space, Isobelle, you don’t have to make yourself so small. Imagine what would happen if you allowed yourself to expand - not just in your art, but you, yourself.”

Following this conversation, I tip-toed away to my room, and cried.

I wasn’t expecting something like this to come up in the residency and I briefly felt very unprepared. Upon thinking about it over the days that followed, I knew this was the ideal time for me to confront these things, and felt something begin to slowly shift.

I spent a lot of time in my room and outside, watching the light and the birds. The light in my room, in particular, was very special.

Winters in Finland are dark and I believe we only had light between around 9:30-15:30 those first few weeks.

Every morning, I pulled up the blinds and sat in my armchair with coffee, a bowl of oatmeal, and a book. I watched as the light outside changed from a deep, midnight blue, all the way to dusty grey (sometimes a sharp, bright blue on sunny days). It was such a beautiful ritual for me and helped ease my mind into a new day. I frequently traveled from the studio to my room at different hours, just to see the light and shadows dance from wall to wall.

On top of that, I could feel some sort of energy from all the other creatives that had the space before me, and I felt so supported by it, in a way.

During this residency, we had (optional) 30 minute group meditation sessions, twice daily, at 8:00 and 20:00, and weekends were scheduled as “silent days”, where we did not verbally communicate with each other at all (though many of us still used hand signals and facial expressions).

Meditation was difficult for me at the beginning and I found myself very distracted by the breathing, stomach growls, and movements of everyone else around.

During the week I would mostly meditate alone in my room. On silent days, I attended both daily group meditations, and over time I began to notice more ease.

I also dabbled with drawing mandalas on the weekend, after learning about them from a Carl Jung book I was reading (they are traditionally used as tools for promoting calm, as well as transformation and individuation). I spent many hours in the little library reading Carl Jung, Alan Watts, Rollo May, and books on creativity.

The main thing I noticed during this time was that I felt present. Fully present. And possibly for the first time in my life.

It also felt easier to hear and feel my intuition.

By the end of the second week, I felt fully at home and had a little bit of a routine: meditation in the morning, walk through the forest, work in the studio, walk in the meditation circle, back to the studio, conversation with other artists in the kitchen, library to read (and maybe evening meditation if I was ready to wind down by 8pm).

No distractions, no obligations, no stress. It was surreal.

I continued to read books, though I wasn’t in any hurry to finish them (I was very ambitious reading these titles anyway, I have to say!).

By the third week, I felt like I was truly meeting myself again after years in hiding. I was so inspired, particularly by the other artists, the light, the birds, the trees...even cool the air.

I'm naturally a very introverted person and struggle to integrate into group settings.

I knew from the start that this experience would be a challenge for me, but finding my place, and my people, is something that has been on my mind for a while. I needed to do something scary.

By early in the third week at Arteles, I finally started to feel myself open up and many of the other residents took me under their wing. I was accepted, embraced, and encouraged to take up space - all things that are very new to me, even at 32 years of age.

I never expected friendships through this residency, and it's not until now that I truly understand the value of being surrounded by other creative minds.

On my last full day at Arteles, I was incredibly emotional.

That morning we had reflections as a group. We talked about what we had learned, what we had worked on, and how we felt about our residency experience.

When it got to my turn to speak, I felt so much that I wasn’t able to make much sense. I just felt so inspired by everyone around me. And not because of what they had made or accomplished that month, but because of who they are.

The way they spoke about what matters to them, the way they followed their curiosity, the way they showed care and support for each other, and their absolute openness to growing and expanding. They inspired me to not be afraid of who I am.

I did both morning and evening group meditations that day as well, and only me and one other resident (one of my housemates) attended.

I cried a lot in the evening meditation, though I tried my best to be discreet about it.

I think I was mostly crying due to being so grateful for my time at Arteles, the people I had connected with, the fact that we all lived so far away and may not see each other again, and for my housemate being with me in that last session.

With her quiet intuition, she remained in the room with me after the timer finished, and we both laid flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling in silence (mostly, I was still sniffling). We then listened to the singing bowls, one by one, and chatted the rest of the night, until our bums were sore and I realised it was past midnight.

All of the residents during this time had such an acceptance for sensitivity, something I’ve sadly find myself ashamed of quite often. I don't think I've ever felt more free to be myself, and this experience deeply moved me in a way I did not expect.

One phrase stuck in my mind after this month is: When things change inside you, things change around you.

The Altered Book I created during this residency:

Inspired by the view from my bedroom window, the birch trees, the European Blue Tits I would see every morning, and the feeling of growth. A window out, and a window in.

Being back home in Bratislava has been difficult, I have to admit. It’s a jolt to the system.

I’ve gone from one month with silence and forest all around, to noise, and traffic, and projects piled up in my inbox.

Although I'm stuck in a bit of brain fog this first week back, I've returned home with a renewed sense of purpose and inspiration for upcoming work, as well as motivation for making further connections with other artists.

I’m very thankful to have had this opportunity and hope many more creatives get the chance to experience Arteles/residencies of this kind along their own path.

I highly recommend doing things that scare you.

Thank you for reading, and I’m wishing you all a peaceful, uplifting 2025.

Isobelle

My month-long artist residency at Arteles Creative Center, Finland

The Altered Book I created during this residency: