RESIDENTE Patagonia Lake State Park Artist Residency Nov 19 - 23 2025

Patagonia Lake State Park Residency - Reflection

Arrival & Intention
I came into these five days craving time alone with the work - space to wake up with the project, sit inside it, breathe it in. It felt intimate in a way I haven’t had in a long time. With my new 800 sq ft studio waiting for me back home, I can feel this shift happening. It feels like I’ve arrived as an artist.

The energy I brought to the park was simple: I belong here.This is Arizona. This is America. This land already holds us, so I wanted to make sure my face - a brown face - appeared again and again in the work. I pushed the self-portrait as a way to insist on presence: flipping eyes, layering butterflies, building dimension with Mylar. By repeating and remixing my passport photo, I wasn’t just studying myself; I was saying that people like me *do* belong in the fine art world, in galleries, in these institutions.

I created a whole body of work in basically 24 hours - two long days - pushing myself to see how much I could extract from one simple image. Repetition became devotion, meditation, reclamation.

The landscape greeted me generously. Driving into Patagonia, I drove straight into a storm. It rained almost the entire time, but that didn’t slow me down. Patagonia State Park is small, humble, and sweet, with a staff that felt like a tight family. On my first walk, I collected sticks and a plastic bag - which became two different artworks, including “No Littering Keep Our Parks Clean.” It felt right: honoring the land by interacting with it, noticing what doesn’t belong, and transforming materials into something intentional.

Daily Rhythm
My days fell into a rhythm that only happens when I’m fully immersed. Because I work with UV light and a darkroom setup, my schedule flipped - I’d sleep around 4-5 a.m. and wake around 11 a.m. Then it was back into reworking images, painting, altering, printing negatives, and experimenting.

I arrived Wednesday the 19th, set up the lab, and by sunset I was photographing the park. By 6 p.m., I was printing the beginning of a full body of work. My first test print was my renewed passport photo - the perfect calibration point. Repetition became obsession: positives, negatives, layers, weaving, Mylar overlays, collage.

I experimented with materials: paper, wood, plexiglass, rocks, porcelain. Found objects became collaborators - a desert stick turned textile sculpture, camel-colored shirt remnants became a woven relic. Some pieces wanted to breathe free, teaching me to step back and listen.

Saturday was the workshop. Two and a half days in, I guided participants through their first cyanotype prints. The curiosity, joy, and creativity of each person made the residency feel complete. My only ritual: remembering to eat, drink water, and nap around 6 p.m. to sustain the focus.

It was fast, but natural. I thrive in high-intensity creative bursts, and this residency reminded me that I work best when I trust my instincts.

Workshop Reflections
The biggest surprise was how two worlds - artists and nature enthusiasts - merged in that space. Both groups share a deep appreciation for life, culture, and the natural world. For me, it felt like bridging art and activism: creating work while honoring the environment and empowering others to do the same.

The participants responded wonderfully. Many were visiting the park for the first time, experiencing cyanotype for the first time. Guiding people through something new felt completely natural. Teaching, for me, is about step-by-step troubleshooting, watching people discover, and helping them navigate surprises.

The most meaningful moments came at the end: seeing all the finished pieces laid out. Each print carried its own energy, its own feeling, its own story. Witnessing the individual creativity of each participant reflected the merging of art, nature, and human connection.

Material Experimentation
Cyanotype became more than a printing method - it became a way to explore how surfaces and textures interact with light, time, and touch.

I printed on paper, wood, plexiglass, rocks, and porcelain, reworking images endlessly. Each material had its own personality: wood absorbed differently, plexiglass played with transparency, porcelain held quiet fragility. I layered Mylar over prints, folded, tore, and rewove them, creating new dimensions and reflections.

Found objects from the park became collaborators in the work. A stick transformed into a textile sculpture, threaded with gold warp and allowed to flow freely, teaching me that sometimes a piece wants to breathe. Remnants of a desert shirt became a woven paper relic - a reminder of lives passing through, of stories left behind.

Accidents became breakthroughs. The work pushed me to question what cyanotype could be, how it could live beyond paper, and how layering, weaving, and sculpting images could expand the medium. Every surface, texture, and fold added a new voice - mine, the land’s, and the light’s.

Personal Takeaways
These five days reminded me why I create: to inhabit my work fully, to explore identity, presence, and place. Living with the project - waking, walking, printing, reworking, weaving - felt meditative.

I thrive in solitude and in high-intensity creative bursts. Repeating and remixing my face became an act of presence: a declaration that brown bodies belong in fine art, that our stories matter, and that we can take up space without apology.

Immersion in nature, teaching, and experimenting reminded me that art is activism. Creating work that honors the land, bridges communities, and sparks curiosity feels like participating in something bigger than myself.

Above all, this residency reminded me to trust: in materials, the land, participants, and my own intuition. The work speaks if I step back and listen - and that’s what I carry forward: courage, patience, and joy in creating boldly.

Looking Ahead
This residency feels like a launchpad. The experiments with cyanotype, layering, and immersion in the land have opened new possibilities for my studio practice. I’m taking these lessons into my new studio, Border Loomers, and every project where art, activism, and community meet. I’m excited to push further, explore repetition, texture, and presence, and continue merging creative practice with care for the land and people around me.

Special Thanks
I am deeply grateful to the State Park Artist Residency program, a collaborative initiative between Arizona State Parks and Trails and the Arizona Commission on the Arts, generously supported by the Arizona Community Foundation. Special thanks to Central School Project for supporting the gallery presentation of this work. Laurie McKenna's commitment to artists and community made it possible to share the residency pieces in a thoughtful and accessible way. This residency gave me the gift of dedicated time, space, and resources to create work inspired by the landscapes of Patagonia State Park. Thank you for fostering an environment where artist can connect with the land, reflect deeply and share our experiences with the community.

-Emmanuel Fernando Serrano