GERB

An Artist's Newsletter

Hi peoples!

I’m currently on Bald Head Island, one week into my first art residency, living in a house with seven other women artists. We call it “the big sleepover.” There are ten artists total, split between two houses—printmakers, charcoalists, painters, watercolorists, one musician, and a bunch of people who do a little bit of everything.

If you don’t know what an art residency entails, here’s a quick snapshot:

An art residency is a program that provides artists with time, space, and resources—studio space, accommodations, sometimes materials—with the main objective being to focus on creating in a new environment, isolated from their normal daily routines. Artists apply with CVs and cover letters, just like applying for a job. But this “job” is about communal engagement: trading information, experimentation, and usually ends in some sort of public event, exhibition, or community experience. Often but not always, the organizers ask that you incorporate the place the residency is held into your work somehow.

Here are some things I’ve noticed and learned over the past week on Bald Head. I wanted to write right smack dab in the middle of the residency, so my thoughts feel more true to the culture of being and practicing here inside this beautiful wormhole, vacuum chamber, artmaking space.

Myself and my thoughts

I want to start with something that has set the tone for my experience here. On January 1st, I embarked on a journey of no alcohol, like many people do for Dry January. Jack and I decided not to drink for 1.5-months until we get to Costa Rica for our special anniversary trip.

It’s been really special to be with myself and all of myself during this residency. I’ll share a small snippet from my journal that I wrote on day two, when I was still nervous about the new setting and the seemingly large goal I’d set for myself.

A quick side note on the journals that I love:

The residency gave us these journals, meant to be used for diary entries, doodles, thoughts, anything really. They will be passed down to the next group of artists in 2027. And the bequeathing of special artists' journals continues as the years go on. In 2025, the journals were filled up, so we were given brand new ones. I really like this idea and think it’s one of the cutest parts of this whole thing.

Now, on day nine, I’ve settled comfortably into myself just as I am. Around dinner time, when the wine bottles start flowing out of the pantry and everyone pours a glass, I actually feel at peace. I’ve grown more loving and confident in myself in social settings. Since I was around eighteen, I’ve held on to this belief that I need alcohol to feel ("cool" "normal" "myself" "have fun?") in large social situations, especially with strangers.

I like taking this break. I think it came at the right time, around the right people, and in the right place.

Shadows, light, fires, color, snow.

In my application for No Boundaries, I explained that my intention for the residency was to continue the memory/childhood-reflection series I’ve been working on for the past year. I mentioned that I have a tendency to jump around and only scratch the surface of some series before moving on.

The day before I left for Southport to catch the ferry, I wrote another list of goals for my residency.

I’ve followed through on my intention of “sticking to it.” At the same time, I’ve explored more deeply within this realm and allowed myself to try new things. I’ve gotten even more atmospheric with my North Carolina memory field, bringing in worlds of shadow, fire, and snow.

I’m realizing that I like to switch it up and build new worlds daily, while still staying rooted in my thought territory of The Race to Grow Up. There’s so much joy in jumping from a shadow-filled, lush green field straight into a pink, frosty snow scene. It’s actually the most invigorating part. I don’t want to confine myself to one specific world.

This residency has helped me realize that I shouldn’t try to tame that part of my practice—I should let it happen.

Once I settled in, I made another intention: to paint non-figurative work. And thus, the fire painting was born. I was completely captivated while painting this piece. I tend to steer away from landscape or non-figurative work—maybe because having a subject grounds my work, or maybe because I fear landscapes aren’t “my style.” I’m still trying to figure out why I don’t do it more.

What I have learned is that I really enjoy it. There’s beauty and happiness there for me. And it feels new and untapped.

​

Things I’ve Noticed Living & Working With Artists

I’ve never lived in a house filled with people who love to doodle as much—or more—than I do. From the moment we wake up until we go to bed, we’re making art in some capacity. This makes me really happy.

Our “girl house” is cozy and homey: a stocked fridge; sketchbooks, scarves, crayons, and coffee mugs scattered about; quiet mornings; more boisterous nights; hours of laughing, connection, and a recognition of how our lives overlap as artists. It’s special to be surrounded by people who share the same line of passion.

I share a room with Heather Divoky, a meticulous inker and illustrator from Asheville. Her main collectors are doctors—they appreciate the exactness and extreme detail in her work. Heather is the perfect roommate. We share the same bedroom organization style, which I’d describe as “slight mess, slight order.” My mom would probably call it “bag lady” or “pack rat.”

We don’t spend much time in our room together beyond sleeping, brushing our teeth, and chatting before bed. And without fail, she tells me “slap lecher” every night, which means good night in Dutch. I find that very endearing.

Many artists here are worried about the time factor of this residency. In a way, we have a deadline. On Tuesday the 22nd, board members will come by before the Open House and choose pieces to be featured in the exhibition at Acme Art in Wilmington on the 23rd (everyone is invited—please, please come! Details are at the bottom of this letter). They’ll also choose one or two pieces for their permanent collection.

Artists who work with slower methods—like thick oil that won’t dry for weeks, or Heather’s incredibly time-intensive inking—feel a sense of urgency they wouldn’t normally face.

Close Quarters

All ten of us arrived with bins full of sketchbooks, paintbrushes, ink slabs, canvases, wood panels, textiles, paper—whatever materials we wanted to work with. Everyone brought different brands, tools, and processes. I’ve really enjoyed noticing what people gravitate toward and why. As I’ve learned everyone’s personalities, their art makes more sense—it feels like an extension of them.

Anabelle loves printmaking because she thrives on order. She enjoys that everything has to be planned and that chemicals need to be mixed just right. “I’m actually fantasizing about packing up my materials and putting them back in their little place,” she told me today. Meanwhile, that sounds utterly burdensome to me, as my paint is strewn about the studio in an unkempt, borderline barbaric manner.

I’ve never worked in a communal studio before. I’m not used to seeing the back-end of artists’ methods or hearing their thoughts spoken out loud—in-person. We’re in a much tighter space than I imagined—really up in each other’s grills. But every day, it feels more and more like a big artist family.

I’ve learned that I really love working in a communal studio, and I hope one day to join one permanently. I feel such a strong sense of belonging here. While painting alone can be beneficial, my practice—and my work—has deeply benefited from this group setting.

It’s also been really nice receiving critiques and suggestions.

I asked Todd, the president—also a working artist, whom everyone lovingly refers to as “Father Todd”—for his thoughts on my first shadow painting. He pointed out how the shadows had a very stark border against the dark field and suggested adding a color between the chartreuse and dark green to help them feel more real. I hadn’t thought of that, and it helped bring out the ethereal feeling I was hoping for. Heather also pointed out that my fire piece needed more depth in the bright yellow at the top.

Miscellaneous things I enjoy that you might enjoy too:

• Chefs from the mainland in Wilmington come over and cook for us, and we’ve been blessed with absolute bounties of food. For the last three nights of the residency, James and Sarah from RX Chicken and Oysters will be here to cook for us!
• I’m making a little movie of my time here, iMovie style—a longer version for members and a shorter one for the public. (The longer version will live on YouTube.)
• Two nights ago, after a communal dinner at the other house, we came back and bedazzled our little belongings. I chose my AirPod case so I’ll always know which ones are mine.

• BHI is a golf cart only. Once you arrive on the ferry, a tram takes you and your belongings to your house. From there, you bike, run, or golf-cart everywhere you need to go. We buzz around in our little carts, noses cold from the freezing wind, scarves wrapped around our faces, fluffy hats, chit chatting through our island missions.
• Our daily issues and problems feel minuscule compared to “normal life.” Like, the golf cart not being charged enough. Or running out of apples. There’s something about being slightly removed from the mainland, from routine, from expectation, that makes everything feel sharper and quieter at the same time. Life feels very playful and whimsical.

Come see all of our hard work!

Friday, January 23rd, the annual No Boundaries Exhibition takes place at Acme Art Studios in downtown Wilmington at 6pm. Each resident artist will be showing some of the work they made on this trip. Please come! I’d love to talk with you about our time being here. All of our journals will be on display alongside all of our awesome work!

Thank you for reading and I hope you have a LOVELY AMAZING WEEKEND!

XO - GERBIE