Kory Reeder

Denton, TX

I’m writing this reflection 125 days after I left Matfield Station. Next to me, I have my notebook turned to May of 2025 which shows 11 big things I wanted to get done while I was at Tallgrass: I checked off 6. Realistically, I call that a success: if I get beyond 50% of what I set out to do at a residency, that’s pretty good. 125 days later, I have completed 4 more of these items and have almost no interest in completing the last thing on this list. 

Curiously, one thing not listed is the project I proposed for the Tallgrass Residency. 

I have a habit of always having more things on my plate than I can reasonably accomplish in a timely manner, and I always struggle while at residencies by feeling pressured to create as much as I can; to try and read as much as I can; to try and see as much as I can. I think anyone that has been artist in residence anywhere as felt this at least a little bit: it’s that mindset telling you “Okay, I have ten days without anyone to bother me, so I have to get everything done while I’m here.” The reality of creative work often goes in a different direction: you follow the trails your mind takes you on, you go dreaming, you explore different ideas, you try new things, you eat new food, you meet new people, you pick up new books and ignore the ones you brought with you; you see new trees and breathe new air. 

You can set out to do as many things as possible, but you need to take the time to breathe and reflect, and to cultivate your own Deep Map. 

My time at Tallgrass was a fantastic episode on an on-going process of change in my work, myself, and my relationship to place. As a fifth-generation Nebraskan (specifically the Tri-City Area), growing up on the native lands of the Chatiks si chatiks people (Pawnee), I have spent the last 2 years getting back in-touch with the Great Plains. For a long time, I didn’t think twice about where I’m from, and would often leave it out of conversations. Not that I was ever embarrassed about it, but the cosmopolitanized world of contemporary classical music and academia often made me feel like there was nothing to tell. I’m embarrassed by that peer pressure and how wrong I could be: the Great Plains are my home, and a beautiful place with a rich history that is as much a part of me as it is part of the settler-colonial project of displacement and genocide through the Homestead Acts and “Manifest Destiny.” 

My time and work at Tallgrass were and are a part of that process of learning, listening, and developing a relationship with the land and its stewards: its history, its spirit, the people there who have always been creating, and how those resonances are still radiating. I think it’s through our work as artists in residence to carry on that story and to continue affirming and radiating the essence of a place so dear to us: it’s our new stories, our new songs, our new images that face outward, and invite folks in. 

While I don’t know if everything will get done, and some things may get sidetracked, we must continue to introduce these new dynamics, and foster some momentum within ourselves that, yes, these things matter deeply. It’s not about a checklist, or accomplishing every task, but of continuous engagement with eyes and ears open, and a yearning to tell those stories to someone new; I am glad to have been a part of that.