Residency Reflections: James Dearlove
Can you describe your first impression of Le Moulin de Marnay and the surrounding environment?
It felt as though I had woken up inside a Bonnard or Vuillard painting. The colours and the quality of the light in both the garden and the interiors were extraordinary. Through the shuttered windows, the soft, towering masses of trees seemed to shimmer in the heat; indoors, a figure sitting at the kitchen table in dappled sunlight while a cat slipped past could have belonged to one of their paintings. That movement between interior and landscape felt very close to my own practice, which often shifts between observation and hallucination.
How did the residency impact your creative process or shift your perspective as an artist?
My practice draws heavily on Cubist ideas of assemblage, collage, multiple perspectives and simultaneity, and I wanted to push these further during the residency. Usually, I begin with drawings. This time, I built a diorama from a cardboard box and used it as a small, homemade theatre. I arranged objects gathered from around the house alongside cut-out figures, photographed these miniature installations, and then made photo collages from the images. These became the starting points for the paintings I made. The process allowed figures, animals, plants and objects to move freely between interior and landscape, observation and hallucination. It opened up a completely new route into painting that I want to continue developing.
Was there a particular moment during the residency that stands out as transformative or unexpected?
The diorama itself was the unexpected breakthrough. It made me see more clearly that painting is as much about constructing a sense of space as it is about arranging images. Within that little theatre, I could bring together figures and objects without the usual constraints of scale, history or logic. It also clarified something about the beds, tables, ledges, rafts and stages that keep appearing in my work. They are not simply props, but thresholds: temporary structures where dreams, instincts and psychological tension become bodily and spatial. That felt genuinely liberating.
What did the time away from your regular environment teach you about your needs as an artist?
It reminded me how much I need uninterrupted time to play and experiment. Making the diorama reconnected me with the pleasure I found in toy theatres and puppets as a child. At first, I felt slightly self-conscious—even guilty—about allowing myself to play in such a childlike way, but it became one of the most productive parts of the residency.
The residency is a shared experience. What was it like interacting with the other artists?
One of the best parts was getting to know my fellow residents and seeing how differently each of us responded to the same place. We shared a real enthusiasm for the surrounding landscape and its history, as well as a curiosity about one another’s work. Those conversations and exchanges gave the residency a wonderful sense of energy and momentum.
Is there anything you left behind—literally or metaphorically—when the residency ended?
I literally left my little cardboard theatre behind. But I took its logic with me: the idea of creating an invented stage where otherwise unrelated figures and objects can meet. I suspect it will continue to shape my paintings long after the physical box has gone.
Anything else you would like to share?
The visit to Maison Max Ernst and Dorothea Tanning was especially moving. Being in the place where they had lived and worked, and seeing how their imaginative world extended into the house and garden, made their art feel vividly present. Ernst’s freedom with collage and metamorphosis, and Tanning’s ability to make domestic space feel psychologically charged, both speak directly to my own practice. I came away reminded that an image can be playful, unsettling and psychologically charged all at once. The diorama itself was the unexpected breakthrough. It made me see more clearly that painting is as much about constructing a sense of space as it is about arranging images. Within that little theatre, I could bring together figures and objects without the usual constraints of scale, history or logic. It also clarified something about the beds, tables, ledges, rafts and stages that keep appearing in my work. They are not simply props, but thresholds: temporary structures where dreams, instincts and psychological tension become bodily and spatial. That felt genuinely liberating.