In September, members of BÔN (a collective of young artists from Pen Llŷn) — Anna Higson, Chris Higson, Iwan Lloyd Roberts, Sioned Medi Evans and Zoe Lewthwaite — undertook a week-long residency on Ynys Enlli.
Supported by Gwynedd Council’s Sbarduno Fund, the residency provided focused time and space for artistic research, experimentation, and collaboration. Working in close proximity, the artists developed individual and collective responses shaped by the island’s landscape, atmosphere, and layered histories, paying careful attention to material, process, and place.
This exhibition forms a memoir of their time on Ynys Enlli — a gathering of findings, reflections, and newly developed works that emerged from their experience on the island. Together, the works trace processes of observation, dialogue, and making, offering a collective record of immersion in the island’s rhythms and presence.
Now you have had some time to reflect, how do you think the experience has influenced your life and practice at this point?
"After arriving back on the mainland, I think initially we all felt quite sad that our experience had ended, it actually took us a fair few hours to finally go our separate ways!
Personally, when you arrive back, when you get home, it just seems like so much information! While the instant shock of more people, cars, consumption etc hits hard, afterwards once I’d settled a little I really missed the sky, the landscape and the constant of the sea, those three things felt extremely addictive and comforting at the same time!
The island takes you on such a journey which I wonder if it’s ever as strong once you’ve been there once? You arrive expecting certain things but I feel like the island breaks down those expectations and gives you exactly what you needed. Those first days you're finding your feet, almost trying to complete it all ready, exploring everything, searching! But It's not until the 4/5th day you feel yourself being absorbed just like the buildings there, you're learning how it feels slowly and your pace is a lot more thoughtful. By the time its the final few days the euphoria sets in, your senses are so heightened by things you’ve been looking at all week but now your seeing them in a different way, you don’t need to fill your days with ticking boxes you end up going to the places on the island you 100% want to be and just sitting there, smiling!
One of the many things I’ve taken from my time on the island is taking the time to take a step back, find that pace again and reconnect with the environment and landscape around me. You can definitely feel that same absorption you felt on the island again, in a weird way you can almost imagine it smiling, recognising the power it’s given you.
That power also made its way into my practice, giving me the confidence to experiment with almost no pressure, the island reminding me to calm down and try it! I’ve done the most amount of development work and experimenting I have done since university! I feel completely revitalised in my practice and just really excited to continue on that journey!"
You were with other BÔN artists during this time, what did that add for you?
"This honestly added so much! Every night we would talk about the day under candle light and a flickering fire. We’d be asking similar questions whether that was about life, our practise or our problems. You could tell everyone was going through their own version of the journey above!"
Do you envisage going back? With a group? Solo?
"100% I would love to think I would be able to go back to Enlli at least a few times throughout my life. Just enough!"
"Arriving on the island I had no expectations on what work I’d produce while I was there and I was prepared to work through some new ideas as part of my continual Mexico series of works. I struggled for the first couple of days, I discovered that working about Mexico didn’t feel natural but I also felt a confusion and insecurity about doing anything to do with the island.
By the 3rd or 4th day, I started to wake up with my eyes wide open to everything I was seeing on the island, I felt immersed and almost like I finally began to understand the new environment. Small, seemingly mundane things began to look more beautiful and hold more significance, I started to wonder whether these things were more beautiful because I was no longer over stimulated from the mainland, or if in fact they were actually, some how, more beautiful, I think it’s a bit of both. Suddenly, while doing a little impromptu painting workshop with Zoe, observing a sunken house behind a rolling field, I wasn’t overthinking working on the island, or what the subject matter it would be. The next few days on the island not only solidified this but it got more intense, and since leaving I’ve discovered that one of the main drivers for my Mexico series, replicating and reliving my experiences and memories, was now also something I wanted to achieve with Ynys Enlli.
Traditional landscapes is only something I’ve ever slightly dipped my toe into, so it’s been a really exciting journey and process to learn and see how these studies of Enlli has evolved and whether when side by side with my Mexico works in my studio, I’d be able to recognize myself and a relationship between the two."
"I stepped ashore on Ynys Enlli, knowing it as a place of pilgrimage—where medieval tradition held that three journeys equalled one to Rome. Some monks believed it to be Avalon, where Merlin’s bones lay buried alongside 20,000 saints. I couldn’t know whether the island would grant me clarity or an unravelling, brought on by a week severed from technology, like the madness in Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse.
In the end, I still don’t fully know what I carried back from that island. I felt I had lived a life of heightened spiritual awareness—never before had the barrier between the mundane and the mystical been so narrow, every moment unfolding like a line of religious poetry. A lamb crossed my path as I climbed the mountain past the church; another passed me by as I gazed over waves crashing on the shallows by the lighthouse.
I made some artwork there, though in hindsight these appear only as instinctive first impressions. I catch myself returning to Ynys Enlli in thought: its clear night skies with dazzling streaks of falling stars, the quiet conversations shared, the walks along the shore, playing sea shanties on my harmonica, and that ever-present view of my homeland on the Llŷn Peninsula—so close across the water, now somehow foreign.
When I was on the island, there were a few surprises; it surprised me how much I loved the serenity of near silence, the slow pace of island life: only the gentlest rustling, my footsteps on gravel, the sheep grazing, the ocean’s caress:
A clean and pure palette of noise.
For weeks following my departure I daydreamed about abandoning my life on the mainland to return to the isle as a fisherman, gazing at the perfect sunset from our quiet paradise in the open sea.
Modernity, All the headlines, all the events, all the hassle and bussle not just distant but beyond comprehension.
How did we let something so simple and beautiful slip so far from us?"
Do you want to go back to get deeper into any of the ideas / feelings / experiences further?
"I would jump at the chance to return. When we travelled to Enlli in September I had only a vague idea for new work: to explore knitting techniques found in traditional fishermen’s jumpers. These garments, developed within coastal fishing communities, carry with them a history of labour, protection and place.
Being on Enlli encouraged a different pace of thinking and making. Being able to knit in total peace, and to be there for that purpose alone, felt invigorating. It allowed me to sink deeper into the process of knitting itself, the repetition of stitches mirroring the steady, meditative pace of island life.
I feel that the work I began there is only the starting point. Returning would allow me to explore these techniques more deeply, and to continue thinking about the connections between craft and heritage that began to emerge during the residency. I would also love to develop the idea that being on Enlli feels like being held. There is a quiet sense of trust there, and an instinctive feeling that you are exactly where you should be. Exploring this through the texture and tactile nature of knitting would be my next step."
What was the most enjoyable aspect?
"One of the most enjoyable aspects was sharing the experience with fellow artists. Watching our collective appreciation for Enlli grow each day brought a constant sense of awe. Each of us responded to the island in different ways, and witnessing those responses unfold through conversation and making was incredibly enriching.
Experiencing Enlli alone would no doubt be very different, and one day I would love the opportunity to do that. However, I believe connection on Enlli is crucial. The environment intensifies conversation; without the usual distractions of everyday life you naturally find yourself immersed in long discussions about art, process and life more broadly.
The time to pause, reflect and delve deeper into my practice was invaluable. In day-to-day life that kind of space rarely exists, but on Enlli there is a clarity of mind that allows ideas to surface, shift and grow."
Did you have any expectations about your time on Enlli, and if so were they challenged/met?
"I had only visited Ynys Enlli on a day trip a few years ago, and even in that short time I knew there was something incredibly special and magical about the island. Staying/living there, however, is a completely different experience — it exceeded my expectations. You are entirely absorbed by the island’s beauty and atmosphere; I have never experienced quiet and stillness quite like it, and feel I haven’t stopped thinking and talking about it since; encouraging those who have never been, and connecting with those I’ve met who have been there and who share the same special feelings.
Having the space and quiet time to focus purely on my practice was incredibly invaluable and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Sharing the experience with the group made it even more meaningful; the first few days allowed us to settle in together and explore the island as a group. We shared thoughtful, open conversations about life and work, and took time to really absorb the landscape and rhythm of the island. After those first few days, experimenting and creating began to flow naturally – everything suddenly becomes a source of inspiration on a much deeper level.
I spent a lot of time with recurring artist-in-residence Carol Sherman, who I had previously met and learned from. Together we continued exploring natural pigments, experimenting with ways of developing them into thicker mediums suitable for printing. This process, and the days that followed, felt like a breakthrough for me. Simply having the time and freedom to experiment playfully — even working in something as simple as a sketchbook; sketching and journalling alongside proved incredibly valuable.
I’ve found myself consistently looking back at my Enlli sketchbook — it’s become really special for me to revisit my notes and reliving conversations and memories, both through my journalling and sketches. It’s probably the most genuine and valuable sketchbook I’ve ever had!"
What unexpected aspects arose while you were there that with hindsight you might see as important moments…?
"After being involved in various projects across different mediums before the residency, I had been toying with the idea of exploring painting more seriously, though I felt nervous about fully committing. We sat outside the house on a picnic bench one sunny afternoon with our materials, Chris brought out his paints and I asked if he would share more about his process and approach.
This impromptu painting session with Chris became one of the most special parts of my time on the island — sitting in the quiet, allowing space to try something new without pressure. The residency created the perfect environment for these spontaneous moments, which encouraged me to experiment with a medium I hadn’t truly explored before and likely wouldn’t have had the confidence to try otherwise. I am incredibly grateful to Chris for guiding me through those first steps.
I quickly fell in love with the process and began to realise it could potentially open up a new direction within my work — drawing with found objects, playing with contrasting colours, layering texture and mark making. Knowing how much I enjoyed drawing with dried seaweed, driftwood etc; Chris carved a long twig into a tool with a brush on one end and a sharp dipping point for ink on the other. I used it consistently during the residency and still use it today for both ink drawing, painting and mark-making.
Painting is still very much an area of experimentation, but it’s something I’m excited to continue developing — particularly through exploring texture, layered marks, and finding ways to integrate it with my print and textile work."