On the evening of July 1st, I stepped off a bus in a practically desolate train station with pine trees in one direction and a few modern looking supermarkets across the tracks. I tried to imagine where the town could be hidden as my eyes and legs dragged me and my two suitcases full of art materials to the familiar " Lidl", a supermarket I would later, on regular occasions venture to on an old blue bike with a pedal brake not unlike the ones I used to ride as a child, compliments of Hub Feenix.

What was to come would then onwards be a discovery. I had stuffed paper and paints and pastels of every nature, pencils and carving tools, charcoal and winter clothes (and strangely), a pair of high-heeled shoes in my over-weight baggage.

I had no plan, only that I wanted to dedicate as much time as I could possibly dedicate to artistic creation. I thought I would go on little excursions and explore a section of this incredible country I had never even imagined visiting but my determination to create as much as possible prevented that from happening fully.

The month went fast. The weather changed from cold and rainy and layers of clothes under the blankets at night to long warm sunny days where the beautiful, enormous lake tempted me and drew me into its fresh waters every day. I swam with watchful swans and jumping frogs, and out far away from the large green lilly pads skirting the banks . Every evening revealed ever-changing wide skies as I lay on my back and paddled. Pine and birch tree hugged the lake and hid families of deer and huge quick running hares. lush tones of green and brown everywhere. Was this paradise?

My first two weeks were a mix of personal struggle and excitement. I needed to shrug off all the tension from the weeks leading up to this amazing adventure, this sanctuary in the forest that I allowed myself to embrace and reep the fruits from (quite literally). This was my time. Time for me, Ismanah artist.
I started playing with my newly acquired paint sticks. I painted me, unsure of what was to evolve, nervous. I moved on to tree tops from my studio, to trees, to log piles to huts, and found that every day, there was something else I needed to draw or paint, or taste. Mushrooms sprung up everywhere from the eratic rainfalls and birds sung in unusual tones or hammered away at the trees high up. I was inspired. How could I not be? Then of course, I discovered wood and set out willfully to carve a rotten log. It now sits as the head of an unfinished totem pole on my kitchen table in Madrid.

I met interesting characters, and shared meals, saunas, and laughter and all of a sudden my time was up. A few days prior to my leaving and a few hours before my last sauna and potluck meal, I had a little exhibition and all was revealed.

So, the following photos are of my artwork at Hub Feenix. I miss the space, the freedom, the inspiration, the forests, the swims, the bike rides, the creatures, the carving of wood in the open air, the people and the ever changing sky. Thank you for giving me this experience. You can follow me and my next artistic endeavors on ismanahhayes9987@instagram