24/08/2026
Driving up the coast, past the campervans and fishermen I pull over at my father’s old house - it’s now baby pink but his buddha is still looking over the sea on the other side of the road. With the offering of a silver halfcrown (his favourite) and pieces of sea glass I asked for courage and carried onwards to the small town of Coromandel.
Nervous and bubbling with excitement I arrive at Driving Creek. Met by a handful of inspiring artists (soon to be inspiring friends) already busy in various stages of their residencies ‘We’re having soup for dinner, don’t cook!’ they say and with that I become part of the fold.
My residency begins; exploring the train tracks and forest, slowing down from work and adjusting to a rhythm; chilly mornings, wrapped in everything warm you owned (slowly accumulating clay on cuffs and thighs), coffee in hand, up the brick steps and over the sweet bridge to the wonderful shared studio up high from where we welcomed the warm sun as it came over the hill. A day full of creating and playing with clay (listening to Aldous on repeat) and then when the sun has set (taking with it my energy) back down to the homely kitchen (stained glass, recycled native timber, odd cups and family table) to a warm fire and a shared meal.