Rhombie Sandoval

Last year, I took part in a nomadic artist residency in Mongolia. I was drawn to the residency because of the kind of people it might attract. Within its description it promised a certain degree of discomfort as we traveled Mongolia together. I was curious about who would answer that call.

At our first meeting, I remember feeling surprised. Perhaps they weren’t what I had imagined, at least not at first. But as the days unfolded and we moved through the landscape side by side, we became an unlikely family. Shared challenges have a way of accelerating intimacy, and the adventure we had quickly bonded us.

On our final night, it felt surreal to think we could simply part ways after everything we had experienced. Yet that, I think, is the beauty of it, to be present enough to recognize that even something temporary can leave a permanent mark.

For me, residencies aren’t just about the work I produce; they’re about the life lived alongside it. They’re the practice of being a guest and surrounding yourself with people who are curious about what it means to be alive, those who run through lightning to close your tent; who, after vomiting all night, still choose to climb the tallest rocks in the Gobi, wiping themselves off and pressing on; who relentlessly help you search the black market for a wishing axe that a shaman sent you to find, those who hear you screaming and shield you to keep you safe; who send a goodbye message to their family while simultaneously recording the audio because their medium is sound; the ones who don’t hesitate to sing with you when the fermented horse milk is passed around and it’s your turn to offer a song to the host.

Residencies consistently remind me what it means to say yes to life and each time I participate in them, my own life becomes a bit more like a residency itself. 

New work soon.
#ArtistResidency #Mongolia