This spring, I’m heading to Studio Kura, a multidisciplinary artist residency tucked away in the peaceful village of Itoshima, Japan. From May 1 to June 30, I’ll be living and creating there—surrounded by rice fields, mountains, sea air, and quiet.
Studio Kura is a residency program and gallery that welcomes artists from all over the world. Housed in a former rice storehouse and located about an hour from Fukuoka City, it offers simple, traditional accommodations and spacious studios that open into the landscape. It’s the kind of place where you wake to birdsong instead of notifications, and where creativity is shaped by the rhythm of nature, not the pressure of deadlines.
Artists live in shared traditional homes—each with private rooms, common kitchens, and studio space. Bicycles are provided, and everything you need is within a short ride. The nearest train station, Ikisan, is a 25-minute walk away. There’s even an office nearby for support, and a built-in opportunity to meet other artists along the way.
Still, I’m nervous.
Nervous about the food. About getting lost. About making new friends, or not making them. About speaking too quietly or too much. About starting something new. All the usual things you think about when you step outside your comfort zone.
But that’s exactly why I’m going.
Lately, I’ve felt like a ghost at my desk—wake, work, scroll, repeat, eat, click, email, sleep. repeat.
Even though I love what I do, the rhythm has dulled me. I need to step away from screens, timelines, and the constant pressure to produce. I need to return to a place inside me that says: Make something. Move. Touch. Listen.
So I’m taking two months off to shift my energy. To listen more deeply. To make something just because.
The Project: Wildroot & Amber
An interactive sonic apothecary
At Studio Kura, I’ll be developing a new installation and performance work called Wildroot & Amber. It’s a project that explores memory, ancestry, and the unseen threads that connect us—through sound and touch.
Using the Playtronica controller, Ableton Live, violin, voice, and looping tools, I’ll turn everyday and natural objects—earth, a photo, an old earring, a leaf—into touch-sensitive sound containers. Each one will be placed in a glass jar and labeled like a relic. When touched, these jars will trigger fragments of sound: a forest echo, a melodic pulse, a whispered voice.
All mixed within a song to add texture and meaning.
These jars become MIDI instruments, and the installation becomes a living archive—part ritual, part performance, always changing. It’s not about creating polished songs, but about remembering. Listening. Being present.
What I Hope to Find
I’ll be walking through forests, collecting materials, recording natural textures, and letting the land itself guide the shape of the project. I’m excited to meet other artists, share meals, and discover how the quietness of rural Japan might open up new creative frequencies.
I’m already packed. Not just with clothes and gear—but with anticipation, curiosity, and a desire to reconnect with my own creative spirit.
If you’d like to follow along (cringe/TMI warning), I’ll be sharing the journey on Instagram as @mel__lif__lu__ous.