The Blackbird Residency - A Letter to the Viewer

Throughout my life, my work has been centered on exploring how people transcend grief. My journey with Nicole Riggs, the founder of The Blackbird Residency, began with one of these projects. In Athens, Greece, we worked on a documentary about children who had made their way to Greece alone, fleeing wars that had torn apart their homelands and their families, sharing their stories of survival and resilience as they began new lives. 

As my life unfolded, I was continually moved by acts of resilience. I witnessed the aftermath of tragedy in Parkland, Florida, where, in the wake of a school shooting, the community sought ways to heal—parents who had lost children dedicated themselves to preventing gun violence, while children who had lost friends learned to find  hope again. I spent time documenting Carmen Cicero, a 98-year-old painter who lost all his work in a fire at the height of his career yet never stopped creating, finding inspiration in the simple beauty of being alive. 

Arriving in Bozeman, I felt these familiar notes. Nicole, inspired by the embrace of the mountains, found her own healing through writing, which led her to establish The Blackbird Residency—a space for artists to experience that same renewal. Jase, a dear friend of Nicole’s reminded me that transformation can be as gentle as caring for oneself. Anastasia, who started a flower farm in memory of someone dear to her, found strength in cultivating new life.

I was fortunate to spend time with these women, each offering me a kind of hope I needed to create. One such moment inspired the beginning of my painting here. I helped Anastasia prepare her flower farm for winter, and she gifted me the last of her flowers—dried and fading yet filled with grace. Their thick, twisted stalks in green and gold reminded me of Van Gogh, who painted sunflowers to remember gratitude.

During my time at Blackbird, I painted these flowers as a meditation on finding beauty in fragile moments—a sense of peace through loss. The flowers began to change form and I found new symbols of healing. It reminds me that just as shadows move with the sun, so does the beast, landscapes, flowers, and faces—each shifting in moments of light.

Thank you,

Codi Barbini