For two weeks in October I went to Prussia Cove for a residency. I had access to the artist ‘Romy Brennan’s’ studio. She lived and worked there for many years. Although Romy passed away a few years ago, her studio remains a quiet place for artists to spend time with their work, and it carries a strong sense of her presence and dedication to painting.
Prussia Cove itself feels untouched by time. The coastline has changed very little over the last hundred years, and arriving there feels almost like stepping into another era. It is still maintained as a private estate, with a handful of houses tucked along the coastline and very little passing traffic. The only cars are those belonging to the people staying in the houses. The quietness creates a rare atmosphere — a place where time seems to slow down.
Most days I walked along the coastal paths and down onto the beaches, simply observing. October light on that stretch of coast has a particular quality — shifting, silvery, sometimes sudden and luminous as it moves across the water. I spent hours sitting on the beach watching the tide, the movement of the waves, and the constant changes in colour and reflection across the sea.
Before arriving I had been given a collection of old hardwood frames by someone who had previously framed works for museums. They were beautifully aged, with a history of their own. I decided to cut my canvases specifically to fit in these frames. Somehow they felt completely at home in Prussia Cove — as if their age and character echoed the timeless quality of the place itself.
Working there became a quiet dialogue between landscape, light, and materials. The frames, the canvases, the studio, and the coastline all seemed to share the same sense of continuity.
The residency was inspiring. It offered a rare opportunity to slow down, to observe closely, and to respond to a landscape that reveals itself gradually through light, weather, and tide.