Residency Reflections
at Streetlevel Photoworks.
Glasgow.
More than anything, as a creative photographer I needed uninterrupted time - time to work, to explore processes, and to stretch into my own practice again. This residency gave me exactly that. It cleared the clutter from my mind in a way my everyday life never quite manages to. There was this sense of pushing everything noisy and unnecessary off the desk and finally claiming some space - real, breathing space to make work.
What surprised me was how quickly I slipped into the city rhythm. The quiet of the rural setting faded as my days settled into a more familiar pace, structured, focused, and steadily moving forward. It wasn’t dramatic; it just happened, almost without me noticing, and that shift in tempo shaped the rest of my time there.
Being able to focus on tactile, hands-on processes felt like a reset button. I explored techniques I’d never tried before, ones I had only imagined, admired, or drawn inspiration from until then. I followed odd little creative impulses, and let myself play without worrying about outcomes. And something shifted - not dramatically, but quietly - in the way I think about my work. It felt like I could hear myself again.
A residency like this isn’t just time; it’s permission. Permission to step out of the everyday current, to be a bit selfish with your attention, and to give your creative brain the oxygen it’s been begging for. I didn’t realise how much I needed that until I was already halfway into it.
Workshop 1 — B&W Beginners: Intro to SLR Shooting & Film Developing
One of the unexpected joys of the residency was stepping into workshops with a sense of openness — not trying to master anything, just letting myself be present in the process. The first of these was a Black & White SLR and Film Developing workshop with Tiu Makkonen.There was something almost comforting in going back over the foundations: aperture, shutter speed, that quiet negotiation with light that film photography insists upon. Tiu walked us through everything gently ,the history, the mechanics, the ways to pre-visualise what might land on the negative. It reminded me that photography is as much about attention as it is about technique.
Then the darkroom — always a different kind of magic. That hush when the door closes, the small clinks of metal and chemistry, the concentration of hands working mostly by feel. Loading and developing my film reminded me of how tactile the medium truly is.
Photography becomes less about images and more about process, patience, and that moment of quiet anticipatio while the reel sits in the tank. By the end of the day, I felt reconnected to the bones of analogue and excited . The workshop nudged me out of autopilot and into a more deliberate space, It was a reset, a reminder, and a small creative homecoming all at once.
Workshop 2 - The following weekend shifted me into a completely different world, one full of alchemy, colour, and the quiet ritual of hand-coating papers. I spent a full weekend immersed in Salt Printing and Cyanotype with the wonderful Iseult Timmermans, whose calm, steady presence made even the more technical parts feel almost meditative.
What I loved most about these historic processes is how physical they are. There’s no rushing. You mix, you brush, you wait. You learn to read the sheen of a coating, the feel of a paper, the way light settles differently on each surface. It’s less about precision and more about attention, intuition, and embracing the small accidents that give the work its soul.
On the cyanotype side, Iseult walked us through preparing fine art papers, fabrics, even glass — showing just how adaptable this 1840s blueprint process can be. The deep Prussian blues never lose their magic. Watching them appear in the water bath feels like witnessing a secret quietly reveal itself.
We also experimented with cyanolumens cyanotype blended with photographic paper which created these unpredictable, luminous shifts that felt alive in their own way.
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Salt printing, by contrast, had an entirely different energy. Earthier, softer, almost nostalgic. Hand-coating with salt and silver nitrate brought me right into the 1830s. The prints came out warm-toned, tender, beautifully imperfect. Working with digital negatives and photograms made the process feel both historic and contemporary, a bridge between centuries.
What made the weekend so special was the spaciousness of it. Two full days where the only task was to make images — coat, expose, rinse, refine, repeat. No distractions, no deadlines, just the rhythm of hands working slowly and intentionally. Iseult encouraged exploration without pressure, letting the process lead instead of forcing an outcome. By the end, I realised how much these alternative processes feed something in me that digital never touches. They slow me down, shift my expectations, and make room for curiosity again.
Workshop 3 — Wet Plate Collodion Weekend
By the time the Wet Plate Collodion weekend rolled around, I was already deep in that residency rhythm ,slower, more open, more willing to let processes lead. But nothing prepared me for how special this one would be. Wet plate photography exists in a world entirely its own. It feels old, ceremonial, slightly dangerous, beautifully unpredictable, alchemy in real time. And under the guidance of David Gillanders, it became one of the most absorbing parts of my residency.
We began with the history, the chemistry, the equipment, and the ritual of it all. And it is a ritual pouring collodion onto a plate, lowering it into the silver bath, working with precision because every second counts. The whole process insists on presence. You can’t rush it or drift off. It demands your full attention in the most grounding way.
We experimented with different cameras from a handmade 10x8 to an adapted Holga , proof that you don’t need a massive budget to enter the world of collodion. It was playful, surprising, and full of those tiny technical victories that feel far more meaningful than they should.
The second day deepened everything. Pour, dip, expose, develop, fix. Wash. Varnish. Hold your breath. Hope. The imperfections , swirls, streaks, edges became part of the beauty. By the end, I felt like I’d stepped into a craft with centuries of weight behind it. Wet plate collodion demands patience, humility, and a willingness to accept what the process gives you. It grounded me, energised me, and left me with the sense that I’d touched something rare and deeply human.
Outcomes of the Residency
The residency wasn’t just a block of time; it became a mirror, a workshop, and a laboratory all at once. I leave with a quiet confidence that has been quietly growing throughout the weeks , the confidence to slow down, to experiment, to trust my instincts, and to let process guide my choices without forcing results. I realised that before this residency, I had become stuck in a rut. My photography sometimes felt soulless, repetitive, like I was going through the motions rather than truly exploring. This residency gave me the opportunity for expansion, for visualisation, for real creative freedom. It reminded me that there are countless ways to approach making images, each with its own rhythm and logic, and that every process holds potential for discovery.
My creative direction has shifted subtly but meaningfully. Acquiring new foundational skills in film and analogue photography, alongside exploring historic processes like salt prints, cyanotypes, and wet plate collodion, has clarified what I want to pursue next. These processes aren’t just exercises; they are tools that will now become part of my ongoing practice. I feel equipped to integrate them in ways that feel authentic and personal, blending tactile, hands-on work with my existing visual voice.
The residency also left me with tangible work I’m proud of prints, negatives, photograms, and tintypes that carry both technical experimentation and a sense of discovery. Each image feels like a small milestone, a record of attention, patience, and presence.
Another rewarding experience has been the people I’ve met. Sharing space with other photographers and artists, seeing their work, hearing their approaches, and witnessing their processes has been inspiring. I know I will continue learning from them, long after the residency has ended.
Alongside the quiet, uninterrupted working time, the residency became a kind of visual reawakening. The city itself and the sheer abundance of exhibitions, archives, and conversations fed my practice in ways I hadn’t even anticipated. Each time I stepped out of the studio, I seemed to walk straight into something that nudged my thinking a little further.
Exhibitions like Nationhood – Memory and Hope and Gaelic Futurism – Strange Fields opened up unexpected lines of connection between landscape, belonging, and imagined futures. Oscar Marzaroli’s Gorbals work hit me with its raw, familiar Glaswegian tenderness, while John Akomfrah’s Mimesis: African Soldier shifted my sense of narrative and memory, how histories are held, reinterpreted, and layered. Even large, sweeping shows like Still Glasgow at GoMA, with its more than eighty works, reminded me how photography can simultaneously document and mythologise a place. And Resistance – How Protest Shaped Britain and Photography Shaped Protest made me think again about what images do in the world—how they move, agitate, gather, and endure.It also reinforced the importance of my own project Resistance and Protest in Contemporary Ireland.
Venturing beyond Street Level, Modern Two in Edinburgh, the work of Felicity Hammond, and the powerful presence of Jaune Quick-to-See Smith added yet more threads installation, reclamation, Indigenous perspectives, the politics of material and narrative.
All of it felt like fuel for my hungry creative soul. Each exhibition held something that found its way back into my own process, not literally, but as a kind of quiet pressure or possibility in the background.
Her knowledge, generosity, and the way she mapped stories between people and place added a deeper historical undercurrent to the work I was making. Walking round Govanhill and hearing the stories connected with Baths and Wee Donegal Hill with her was like stepping through layers of migration, resilience, community memory.
The Irish History Group at Deep End added further texture—talks, discussions, fragments of lived experience that will stay with me long after.
Even the institutional spaces became part of the residency’s atmosphere: hours spent in the Mitchell Library for the Donegal exhibition, drifting through the Hunterian Museum, wandering the Kelvingrove galleries. These weren’t just visits—they were part of a wider process of tuning my eye again, letting myself absorb, wander, and respond.
All of this visual and historical stimulus built up gradually, almost without me noticing. It worked its way into my thinking the same way the quiet studio time did: gently but insistently. It reminded me that creative practice isn’t just made in isolation; it grows through encounter, friction, curiosity, and the simple act of looking closely. The residency didn’t just give me space to make work—it deepened the world around that work, widening the field I draw from.
I am deeply grateful to Malcolm Dickson at Street Level for his generosity, guidance, and support both before and throughout my residency. His insight and encouragement opened doors, offered steady guidance, and created the conditions that allowed me to settle quickly and engage fully with my practice. I am sincerely thankful for all he has done to make this experience so enriching.
I am equally indebted to Dany Metzstein, who welcomed me into her home with extraordinary warmth and care.
Over the course of the residency, we have become firm friends, and her presence brought comfort, joy, and the kind of heartfelt companionship that nourishes the soul. Her hospitality transformed my stay into a true home-from-home, allowing me to focus fully on my work while feeling entirely supported and cherished.
I will deeply miss our evening catch-ups and morning coffees, and I can think of no one I would have loved more to explore the Barrowlands with on a Sunday morning or to meet and share time with her friends.
I would also like to express my heartfelt appreciation to Martha McCulloch for her thoughtful support and guidance. Our many phone conversations before and after the residency, her advice, and encouragement were invaluable, helping me prepare for this experience and reflect on it afterwards.
Finally, I wish to thank Artlink Donegal, in collaboration with Street Level, Glasgow, for this incredible opportunity. The residency has been transformative, giving me space, time, and resources to reconnect with my practice, explore new ideas, and absorb the richness of visual and historical stimulus around me. The care, commitment, and generosity of everyone involved—organisations and individuals alike—have made this residency a profoundly inspiring and life-affirming experience, one for which I will always be grateful.
With enduring gratitude to all whose generosity, support, friendship, and guidance have made this experience unforgettable.
Jacqui Devenney Reed
Nov – Dec 2025
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