I’ve recently come back from an adventurous trip to Denmark and Sweden; partly to finish my Masters, which was a huge milestone after my final project studies and exhibition, but also to enjoy a much-needed holiday time with my husband.
And I think I really needed it.
Denmark, in particular, felt incredibly restorative. We spent time beside lakes and the sea, walking, exploring, swimming and simply enjoying being somewhere different. We visited museums and galleries too, including the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, where I enjoyed seeing exhibitions featuring Lucian Freud and Henry Moore, two artists whose work I’m already familiar with.
But one of the unexpected highlights of the trip was KunstCentret Silkeborg Bad.
Set in beautiful surroundings beside Lake Ørnsø, the art centre is surrounded by a sculpture park and has an interesting history as Denmark’s oldest preserved health resort, dating back to 1883. We wandered around the exhibitions, but there was one particular installation that really captured my attention.
It was actually quite simple: a chair, a bed with a coverlet, some nightclothes and a film to watch. In the film different artists, wearing the nightclothes were hand sewing individual pieces of cloth, whilst others slept in the bed. The coverlet on display was the finished sewn peice.
This was such a simple concept, but I was entranced. Sewing has become such an important part of my own creative practice. Over the years I’ve been involved in different community sewing projects, and I love the way sewing can bring people together. There is the making itself, but there is also the conversation, the sharing of skills, the passing of time and simply being alongside other people.
That installation really made me stop and think.
And stopping is something I’m thinking about a lot at the moment.
The theme of restoration feels particularly relevant as we move into autumn. After such a busy summer, and with finishing my Masters alongside everything else, I’m feeling the need for a slower pace. Not necessarily to stop making, but to make some room around it.
I think that is what I want to take into the coming months. Some time for stillness, reflection and, perhaps, a little less pressure to always be doing something.
There are already ideas beginning to form for 2027 and for summer exhibitions, and I’m sure those ideas will keep developing. But for now, I’m quite happy to let them sit for a while.
Maybe restoration is partly about that — giving yourself enough time and space to stop, recharge and notice what comes next.
And after a very full summer, that feels like exactly what I need.