Resonate Magazine | Australian Music Centre

Image: Helen Svoboda  
© Celeste de Clario

Living on an eighteenth-century fortress island in Finland has its perks. Having visited Suomenlinna sporadically throughout my childhood, it was surreal to arrive again in my late twenties - this time, to stay for a three-month residency as part of the Helsinki International Artist Programme (HIAP). Originally born in Finland, my earliest memories exist within the stunning Nordic winter landscape. Now I had arrived back into this nostalgic, magical space as a fully fledged adult (albeit, with a child's mind).

For the first time in a long while, I was somewhere for no other reason than to create. And this, in itself, felt like an alternate reality. Dragging my double bass through the snow from the ferry to my studio apartment, a mild blood rush danced throughout my body. A temporary release from responsibility, I had entered an intentional escape from my fast-paced freelancer lifestyle in Melbourne. The next three months were for unfiltered curiosity surrounding my performance practice as a double bassist, vocalist and composer.

The Helsinki International Artist Programme invites resident artists from all over the world, working across all different disciplines. As the only musician during my stay, I hungrily absorbed similar and differing perspectives on art-making from other residents. Many of these perspectives surfaced in the bi-weekly sauna sessions, which always initiated fruitful conversations.

Central to this was the idea of 'practice' and all that this word encompasses. As a musician with 6+ years of existence in tertiary institutions, I have always struggled with this word and what it means in context of my own development. My formal training in classical and jazz music consistently included an element of self-inflicted pressure around the concept of practice. I associated this word with the necessary hours to be spent on my instrument, and eventually found a way of playing that felt like my own.

The HIAP residency period affirmed a reality I was already starting to accept: 'practice' is so much more than the initial concept of the word. From January to April, I 'practiced' for most of each day, regardless of how little or much time I was physically present with my instrument. I believe practice to be any action - conscious or unconscious - during which one reflects upon or absorbs creative ideas and processes. The doing itself exists within this cloud of 'being' - and as a creative, one never truly switches off to any form of inspiration or idea. Without any immediate outcome pressures, I was open to taking each day at a slower pace, allowing myself to properly process inspiration from my immediate surroundings. I felt like a child again.

My life became a nocturnal existence. The unfamiliar feeling of having complete control over my schedule propelled a shift in my body clock, guided by the limited hours of sunlight upon waking. Mornings would typically involve a run in the snow - occasionally with brutally numbing sub-zero wind on the face - circling the ever-changing island surrounds. A series of daily experiments would follow on the double bass and voice in my beautifully reverberant studio, recorded and compiled for later listening and reflection. Surprisingly, I began to paint these sounds each evening at approximately midnight, mostly to lull my overstimulated brain to sleep (see below):

My artistic drive became focussed on discovering unexpected sounds on the double bass - almost as if the instrument was taking on a different identity entirely. I sought to sonify elements of the Finnish biosphere across a series of focused compositional vignettes. The crackle of the ice beneath my shoes became plucked harmonics (using fake fingernails and alfoil as preparations); a collage of harmonica and layered overtones sonified the intricacy and delicacy of tiny snowflakes as they gently landed on my black puffer jacket. Micro 'songs' included a series of lyrical ponderings, most of which remained in a space of rumination and stasis.

My time in Finland also allowed me to reconnect with close friends and collaborators during focussed periods. I co-composed and recorded an album of experimental duo voice works with Helsinki-based vocalist Selma Savolainen (whom I met at the Banff Arts Centre in 2019); German drummer André van der Heide guested on my solo recording across a smorgasbord of percussive objects; Finnish pianist Kari Ikonen and I performed a set of original compositions at Iisalmi Jazz Festival; and Australian cellist James Morley (now based in Switzerland) joined me for a week to begin work on a new duo project. These collaborative periods, interspersed across a predominantly solo venture, breathed new life into my 'practice' as a result of sustained artistic friendship and trust.

Undoubtedly, the HIAP residency was a phenomenal experience. My 'practice' became directly inspired by the extremity and fragility of my surrounding environment, grounded by a reconnection with my home roots. For a moment, I was ten years old again. And this is a feeling that I hope to sustain for decades to come.

Thank you to the Australia Council for the Arts for this incredible opportunity, and to the Helsinki International Artist Programme for holding valuable space for creativity and process.