A Room of One’s Own — Moving into The Coach House Studios
- Mar 24
- 3 min read
Updated: Mar 25
In mid-January, I moved my studio into the Coach House on the grounds of Yeldall Manor. It is a change that, in many ways, feels both practical and quietly profound.
For years, my practice was split between spaces. My workshop lived in the garage — often very cold in winter — while my showroom was in the house. It worked, but it also meant a certain fragmentation: making in one place, presenting in another. Now, for the first time, everything comes together in a single room. A warm, creative space where making and showing coexist naturally. It is, quite simply, a joy.
There is a beautiful kind of calm that comes from this unity. Materials, tools, finished pieces — all part of the same rhythm. Ideas move fluidly in the room, without interruption.
At the same time, I am no longer working in isolation. The Coach House is now home to ten artists, each immersed in their own discipline. There is something deeply grounding about this quiet creative exchange and the presence of others working with equal focus and care.
In many ways, this feels like something I have been moving towards for a long time. As a child in Denmark, I visited artists’ studios just like this — places where different practices existed side by side, where making was part of daily life, and where creativity felt both individual and communal. That memory has stayed with me, and has been something I always wanted to be a part of.
In this context, I often think of Virginia Woolf’s “a room of one’s own.” Not as isolation, but as something more nuanced: a space that is truly yours, within a wider creative world. That balance feels very present here.
The surroundings also shape the experience of the studio in subtle but meaningful ways. The Coach House sits within the parkland of Yeldall Manor, and my window looks out onto a forest. The light is soft and constant, changing gently through the day. Occasionally, herds of deer pass by — almost unreal moments that seem to slow time for a second.
This environment inevitably finds its way into the work. Not in a literal sense, but in the pace, the attention to material, the sense of continuity and stillness.
Alongside images of my own studio, I am including a few glimpses of the hands at work around me:— at the potter’s wheel— in the rhythm of stitching— holding brush and paint
These are small moments, but they speak to what this place is — a shared space of making, where different practices sit alongside one another, each distinct, yet connected through process.
Moving into the Coach House has not changed what I do, but it has changed how I do it — and how it feels to do it. There is a greater sense of ease, of integration, and of quiet continuity.
It feels, very simply, like the right place to be.
Visitors are always welcome to see the studio by arrangement. If you are curious about the work, the materials, or the process, I would be delighted to show you around and share a glimpse of this creative space.
Comments