The Importance of Artist Residencies

Many organizations offer artist residencies and the benefits to artists are significant. As Inuit artists, we have many responsibilities—we are parents, aunties and uncles who have to juggle working, living our culture, socializing and being with our families. Sometimes we don’t have time to sit down and make art, and we end up watching our art materials gather dust. But like all creative people, we need to make art in order to feel well-balanced and grounded. Residencies give artists dedicated time and space to focus on creating, often with support such as materials, mentorship, or access to new opportunities. These residencies allow us to temporarily remove the weight of everyday responsibilities so we can focus on our art practice. They can also strengthen our cultural knowledge, build connections with other artists, and bring new skills back to our communities. 

Anne and Laila Labba in Kárášjohka (Karasjok), Sápmi (Norway), softening reindeer leather, 2024PHOTO ULIVIA UVILUK

I was not aware of the existence of this type of program or what artist residencies were until 2019, when I was the program agent at Aumaaggiivik, Avataq Cultural Institute. We collaborated as both a residency host and an organizing partner with the Montreal office of the Goethe Institute, a cultural organization from Germany that has 151 offices in 98 countries, for an Arctic-focused residency involving several countries, titled “The right to be cold.” Delayed to 2021 due to the COVID-19 pandemic, we eventually sent Marije Jessen, a textile artist from Norway, to Inukjuak, Nunavik, QC, while Nunavik artist Niap went to Malakta in Malax, Finland, an art centre that receives frequent guests from all around the globe for artist residencies. We were also supposed to have an artist exchange between Yakutia, Russia, and Nunavik, but it was during escalating tensions with Russia and concerns about the Sputnik COVID vaccine. Artists were very excited to see the similarities between Nunavik and Yakutia, but the reality of international projects is that they are often at the mercy of global politics, and the artist’s safety is our responsibility. If travelling internationally is part of a residency, artists should look at the criteria for entering the country, potential dangers, and if they need a travel or work visa or if they need to submit a duty fee upon arrival. Being part of a residency taught me about the value of residencies but also about how to properly prepare for international travel and work.

One artist I admire is Julie Grenier, who is from Kuujjuaq, Nunavik, QC, and based in Montreal, QC. She is a fashion designer, a beadwork artist, and the director general of Taqramiut Nipingat Incorporated (as well as a board member at the Inuit Art Foundation). Grenier participated in a residency at the Banff Centre for the Arts and Creativity in 2021. She said the residency left her feeling rejuvenated after a year of lockdown: “Coming out of the pandemic, it was really hard for me to find a creative space in my house because we have been in there for so long, I wasn’t feeling it. The residency was a way for me to disconnect from the house and the last year we have lived, and really focus on my art.” The Banff Centre gives artists 24-hour access to studios, which allowed Grenier to hone her pattern-making skills so she can create fashion statement pieces independently, without having to rely on collaborations. She also mentioned that having a supportive husband, family and employer allowed her to leave for a month without worry: “I’m very transparent with my board of directors about my art practice and I don’t feel like it has hindered my work—on the contrary, I came back missing it.’’ 

The residency at the Banff Centre opened new doors for Grenier. Soon, we will see her in a collaboration with the KWE Festival and Jean-Claude Poitras, a veteran haute couture designer who has always wanted to see his work redesigned by Indigenous artists. Her experience is a testament to the idea that residencies nurture creativity and open doors to new projects. 

Ulivia Uviluk and Laila Labba in Børselv, Norway, 2024PHOTO ULIVIA UVILUK

I had my first residency as an artist in 2024, when I went to Karasjok, Norway, and to Ivujivik, Nunavik, QC, alongside Sámi artist Laila Labba. It was amazing to have the time and space to create without worrying about finances, since I was provided with lodging, a per diem and funds to cover the cost of transporting my materials. It was also a relief to be told that no finished projects were required from participating in the residency; most residencies don’t expect a final work, which gives artists the time and freedom to experiment. We could simply spend weeks getting inspired and trying out new things, and finally having time to focus on creating my art pieces motivated me. 

Laila Labba Ivujivik I (2024)COURTESY HÅKON HOLMGREN GABRIELSEN © THE ARTIST

The Karasjok residency was in a small town that reminded me a little bit of Kuujjuaq—it was quiet and people were extremely friendly. Being there as an artist in residence enabled me to learn about the  people and their culture in a way that I wouldn’t have experienced if I were simply visiting as a tourist. We had access to a workspace at the Sámi Contemporary Art Institute, the Sámi Dáiddaguovddáš, which frequently hosted artists visiting for exhibitions or other projects. The Sámi Dáiddaguovddáš also held a week of performance studies as part of a different residency exchange between artists from Latvia and Sápmi, where I was able to witness performance art that felt so far from my own practice and to have discussions about what we had watched. 

Going to Ivujivik with a Sámi artist was also refreshing. Seeing Labba’s perspective as an Indigenous artist from outside of Nunavik was completely different from the southern Canadian point of view that I was used to. Labba, being an Indigenous artist from the Arctic who is used to going camping, fishing and participating in other cultural activities, did not require much education on how things are in Nunavik. She was humble and open, and. it made me see and appreciate my home region from a new perspective. 

 

Ulivia Uviluk Packraft fishing (2025)COURTESY MARIE-CHRISTINE COUTURE, AVATAQ © THE ARTIST

In both communities, we felt very welcomed, which inspired us by creating a strong sense of cross-cultural Indigenous kinship. This included similarities in our food and our cultural perspective of living in harmony with the land, although we have completely different languages and cultural practices. The Northern Sámi language, davvisámegella, is so unfamiliar to sounds from any language that I know. They have reindeer they herd, which is different from Inuit and our hunting of caribou, but the taste is very similar. We both have the same berries, but Inuit are mostly fond of the crowberry, paurngat, and Sámi eat more lingonberries and kiminaq, than we do. They don’t know how their ancestors played the drums, because they were all burned by the church, whereas our drum songs are still known and practiced. In some ways, our cultures are like fraternal twins, both birthed by the Arctic yet unique in our own ways. 

Together, our exhibition Iqalliagiasivugut, Vulge oaggut, Aller à la pêche, Going Fishing opened at the Visual Art Centre, in Westmount, QC, on July 11, 2025, then will travel to Karasjok and Ivujivik.

Last spring, I received amazing news: in the fall of 2025, I am spending three months in Paris. I applied to the call of the Conseil des Arts et Lettres du Québec last winter and was accepted. I met Léuli Eshraghi, the curator of Indigenous practices at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, who also went to la Cité Internationale des Arts, and they told me it was like the United Nations but for artists. The Cité has studios with staff and resources for the artists and has new exhibitions constantly. I am thrilled about what I will make, the people I will meet and the knowledge I will gather. 

 

Laila Labba Jiekna muitá (2025)COURTESY HÅKON HOLMGREN GABRIELSEN © THE ARTIST

Depending on the program, some residencies have costs that the funding does not cover, so artists may have to apply for more financial support. I received a subsidy cheque for my first residency, but some residencies don’t provide this upon acceptance. The Canada Council for the Arts offers many grants—some for travelling or subsistence—that artists can apply for, and with a letter of acceptance from a residency, there is a high chance of receiving funding. Regional arts organizations also offer grants. Aumaaggiivik offers different grants to Inuit artists from Nunavik who reside within Quebec. All of the preparation beforehand can feel like climbing Mount Everest for someone who is not used to the administration involved in such projects, but support and guidance are provided by the arts organizations. 

Residencies open doors we didn’t know existed. They give us a moment to breathe and remind us that the flame of our passions has not turned to ashes. They give us tools to perfect our work to our own standards. We meet other talents and create friendships with artists from elsewhere. As someone who has been on both sides of receiving and giving opportunities to artists, I know that Indigenous artists often struggle with impostor syndrome. But let me give you a friendly reminder: these opportunities are offered to be seized. And if you think that you have little chance of being accepted for such a project, remember that there is no lower chance than if you don’t apply.