Lydia Gravis

Lydia Gravis was an artist-in-residence at Prairieside Outpost in Spring 2023, traveling from Ogden, Utah. During her residency, Lydia immersed in the natural surroundings of the landscape as she deeply explored the invisible, collective experiences humans have and share.

I spoke to only one other human in the time I was there. I dwelled in stillness. I walked in the fields and learned about the Prairie. I was struck by how deep the roots are on the prairie tallgrass. It led me to contemplate the idea of what it means to bend, instead of break.  It felt like the last two years had broken me. I went to the cottage to sort it all out; to channel it into artmaking. 

I made work about monumental loss, and the inscape of the human spirit.  I spent time wondering what illuminates our paths out of the dark cavernous places we sometimes find ourselves traversing? Embers of love and grace, indeed.

I made drawings without knowing what they were about, or where they came from. I was okay with the not-knowing and the awkwardness inherent to experimentation. I made twelve new works on paper. I wrote a new artist statement that I was actually pleased with.  I applied for a grant.  I meditated. I stared at the horizon. I let myself slow down. 

"My artist residency at Prairieside Outpost was pure magic. I arrived at the cottage after dark, and noticed that all the lights were on. It felt so welcoming as I arrived at this retreat.  Little did I know how much of a catalyst the next nine days would become. That night I went to bed and slept better than I had in years.  

Evenings were spent on the front porch, bundled up so I could linger in the liminal space between winter and spring.  I marveled at the birds as they serenaded me at sunset, and I gazed at the full moon as its warmth glowed above the expansive field behind the cottage. Mary Oliver poetry crept into my head. Wild Geese, suddenly reciting in my mind, over and over again. I hadn't thought of that poem in a long while. 

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

At the Tallgrass Prairie National Reserve, I walked the fields and spent time on a hilltop enjoying the sun on my skin and feeling the wind on my face.  I remembered how much I thrive when I spend time outside. I realized it's a need, not a want. This felt revelatory. Each day while I worked, I listened to the trains as they passed through town. Their sounds became comforting in their predictability and magnitude.  I let myself be tired. I let myself take breaks and explore.  I realized how much I don't do that at home, and how different I wanted things to be after I returned. 

This residency was the respite I needed to re-center and recalibrate. In hindsight, that week was a chrysalis moment for me in many ways. I'm immensely grateful for my time at Prairieside Outpost, as it was both a generative and deeply restorative experience.”

–Lydia Gravis, Summer 2023