New years, nerves and an invite to join me at Voyager Estate
January 2023
An invitation …
Sand and salt form a trail across my studio floor. Traces of a new years dawn dash to Flinders too pleasing to sweep up just yet. A reminder to set aside more time to just chill and let things be as they are. In and out of the studio, letting go of expectation has been my biggest learning and force for inspiration in the last twelve months.
But more on that next time. I’m super excited to invite you to my exhibition Found at Voyager Estate as their summer feature artist. It's a thrill to have been asked and feels like a good home for the series.
You can visit all January but I'd love for you to come hang out at the event they're throwing for me next Thursday night: An Evening with Feature Artist Sarah Hewer. There'll be delicious wine and canapés to enjoy amongst the art. I’ll be there to chat, share inspiration and stories behind some of the newest pieces in the series that began traipsing the edges of fire scarred forest, bright new growth emerging.
An Evening with Feature Artist Sarah Hewer (book tickets)
6pm January 12 at Voyager Estate
Found exhibition open daily 10am - 5pm until January 31.
In the Studio (and beyond)
Preparing to hang work in public brings an odd amalgam of feelings. Nervous anticipation. Self-doubt. The ping pong of internal debate as I decide which pieces to hang. Options. Endless options. The inner critic who keeps wanting to hang out. But all the while excitement brews. Its murmur is hard to spot at first, but by the time the final work is hung and I see the first person stop and look (and I mean really look) it's a vibrant cacophony. Then, a serenity that comes with standing back and seeing my work anew. But the act of making and creating is so insular, those first moments out in the world can be alarming.
Late afternoon at Voyager Estate. A handful of bronzed travellers linger at the cellar door. As closing approaches and the last glasses are stowed, it's time to start hanging. The space is empty but for gallery wires strung in eager anticipation, a cheerful taunt that there's no backing out. A deep breath eases the tightness in my chest. Still wrapped we lay the pieces out. Having played out the hanging in my mind, I know exactly where each will go. Up and down the ladder, wire upon wire tightened, loosened and re-tightened. Is that really straight? As we peel back protective layers, members of the Voyager team intermittently pass, moving from the cellar door to restaurant. They stop to look and chat excitedly as new pieces are revealed.
Everything in place, I can step back, walk the space and take it in. Surprise as the happiness hits. It looks good. Feels good. A celebratory sip is cool and welcome. Turning to leave, balancing arms of cardboard and tools, I glance back and jolt. A nervous flutter. Will they be okay without me? Overnight? On their own? Logically I know they’ll be fine but there’s a connectedness that makes me feel protective. Driving home, the last sun filters through the forest. I feel the warm glow, the pre-hang rollercoaster seems silly and redundant. But there's an easy acceptance in knowing it'll be the same next time.
