When words caught up with the studio

The new Studio18 website came into being the way most things here do, through shared time rather than ceremony, over a run of bright New Year days when Waiheke was settled into summer and the studio felt especially generous.

It was the three of us working together (Tim, Tom and Lyss), side by side, in the same rhythm that shapes everything at Studio18. We moved between benches and screens, between clay dust and sentences, letting ideas take form slowly instead of forcing them into place. Lola the pup threaded herself through it all, inspecting ankles, notebooks, and open laptops with equal seriousness, and reminding us often enough to pause, look up, and laugh.

The studio doors stayed open throughout those days. Light drifted across the benches in long, patient bands, changing colour as the hours passed. Clay dried more quickly than usual in the warmth, asking for extra attention and keeping everyone honest. Outside, the trees were busy with their own conversations…. the tūī arrived early most mornings, sharp and opinionated, their calls cutting cleanly through the air as if they had strong views on how things should be arranged. Fantails flicked in and out, curious and unafraid, looping through the room before vanishing again. Kererū arrived later, heavy and calm, settling into branches with the steady confidence of birds who know exactly where they belong.

The website took shape the same way work takes shape here. A section would be written, then left alone. The next day, it would be read again and quietly adjusted, not to make it cleverer, but to make it truer. Others were given more space to breathe. We wanted the website to behave like the studio itself, to feel lived in rather than launched, and to make sense to artists who read carefully and notice when something is pretending to be more than it is.

There were breaks, as there should be. Dark and Stormies appeared as the afternoons eased into evening, condensation running down the glasses while shelves of pots waited quietly for their turn in the kiln. Champagne was opened without speeches or plans, just a few raised glasses among friends and unfinished work. Barry White slipped onto the speakers at one point, low and smooth, loosening shoulders and stretching the mood, with a bit of GIMS later on when the energy needed a different kind of lift.

What is live now is a website shaped by that time together. It opens the door onto The Monday Practice, where local artists come each week to work on their own projects and, over time, to develop shared methods and materials. It speaks about residencies that invite visiting artists into the rhythm of the studio, workshops led by people who carry knowledge in their hands, and one-off works that leave the shelves and travel on into other lives.

More than anything, the site is an invitation.