I have had the wonderful opportunity of getting to know the remarkable and singular artists Alice Momm and Nan Ring, who I first met while they were both in residence at our Wintertide Rustic Retreat several years ago and our friendship continues to this day.
In 2023, Alice created Interlude for Millay on our grounds as part of our 50th Anniversary Celebration/Follyfields Festival, complete with willows and other plantings that continue to flourish. In 2024, Alice collaborated with the Alison Cook Beatty dancers on A Frolic in the Woods (a retelling of classic fairy tales) in Central Park. In 2025, she had a solo exhibition at Glen Echo Park just outside of Washington, DC.
In 2024, Nan’s solo exhibition of poems and paintings, These Almost Lost Pieces at the Brassworks Gallery, Montclair, NJ, received much positive critical acclaim with programming extending through 2025. (These works were in part inspired by her time at Steepletop.)
Because of their long friendship and dedicated creative practice, I wanted to hear more about their time and experience up on the hill in the snow and this conversation is their response to me. ENJOY!
When the snowflakes settle… A Conversation Between Interdisciplinary Artists Nan Ring
and Alice Momm about their Experience at the Wintertide Residency.
ALICE MOMM: Do you ever notice how the atmosphere shifts in a pine grove and you can almost feel a certain softness in the
air?? The sap is sticky in spots, the living pine needles supple. I’m talking about that one late afternoon we walked
through the snow at Millay during our 2023 Winter Tide residency in March, and stopped in the stand of pines near
Edna St. Vincent Millay’s tiny studio.
NAN RING: I do notice that shift in a pine grove, and it bears mentioning also that when you say “snow,” you are talking
about that astonishing three feet of snow that fell just as we arrived! We were completely snowed in. The landscape
was transformed into a blanketed stillness, and that pine grove was a little sanctuary of silence perfumed with the
scent of living sap.
AM: I was so happy then, I had to reach out to kiss the nearest tree.
NR: I remember that moment, and being the photographer, poet and painter I am, I knew that it was a moment
when you were revealing something both playful and profound about yourself, but also very true to your art and
your spirit as an environmental sculptor and poet, so I raised my camera quickly and got that shot.
AM: Later you gifted me the painting you did from that photo – which I adore – because it is me at my most deeply
alive, happy and connected. It hangs in my home, and it reminds me of my true north. Thank you, Nan.
NR: You’re welcome. It was a sweet painting unlike my work, really, but so – you. I often think of people, places,
and certain artworks as North Stars in my life, and Millay is one of those for me, including our friendship and the
conversations we have had about our work for many decades now. I came to Millay that winter wanting the time
away for myself, but also seeking the camaraderie of like-minded fellow artists that I knew I would find there,
especially you – a longtime friend and kindred spirit – to be in the midst of that creative energy. In my suburban life
outside of NYC, where you and I met, it is still very much about schedules and obligations in a busy environment.
Here at Millay, that all stops for a time of introspection and true inquiry in my work. I like to call it “being in my
poem head.”
AM: I came to be alone and not alone. I came to be in kinship with the more than the human living world – so hard
to access in NYC. I came drawn to the promise of long days punctuated by conversation with artists, writers and
musicians – my other kin. And beloved among that group is you, my long-time friend and artistic soulmate. We
have had quite a long history of sharing ideas, poetry, life.
NR: Our lives and art are very similar in some ways, yes. Even though my recent work is about finding motion in
the figures I usually paint since motion is life really, that winter I was drawn to the windows in the beautiful main
house alit with snow, and was more interested in stillness.
AM: You invited me to your studio where a series of gorgeous pastels were in progress – the winter light, the
shimmering snow, the intimacy of interiors meeting the world beyond through the long studio windows. I was
struck by the careful precision and geometry of the compositions and how they were softened by a glittering glow of
pastel dust.
NR: Thank you. I was also writing a poem in a series honoring under-recognized women artists, and this one was
about the futurist Benedetta Cappa living alongside Giorgio Morandi, her more famous contemporary. I love
Morandi also, and it was his stillness that I was thinking a lot about. I remember you welcoming me to your studio
too, and seeing the energetic lines and subtle interplay of natural materials you had gleaned from your walks woven
into a kind of whimsical and poetic calligraphy, alive with the unique texture and subtle color of branch and leaf.
AM: My primary interest in coming to Millay that March had been to stake out a spot for a sculpture I was to build
in the summer. Only I couldn’t see the ground for the snow! So I gleaned and gathered and made small
constructions from the many branches downed by the storm. The pine branches were still amenable to my
manipulations. Some of these constructions entered the piece Interlude for Millay that began to take shape a few
months later.
NR: Your work is also about both the terror and the beauty of nature. I remember one especially funny walk we
took in the snow where we experienced both.
AM: Yes, (laughs) We put on high boots and trudged down to the Poets Walk – more-than-knee deep in snow,
pausing for each poem, our conversation flowing in between, until we heard crunching noise and breaking twigs in
the distance. A bear? Weren’t they still sleeping in the snow? Then again, it was March already – maybe they were
extra hungry! Yes, yes, I know – an unlikely scenario – but still we turned and ran, laughing as we stumbled through
banks of snow and ice until we arrived at the safety of the road.
AM: I am ever grateful for Millay; grateful for the peace, the studio and the long uninterrupted hours to think,
walk, gather, write, draw and make – the artist life. Grateful to be an artist surrounded by trees, hills and meadows,
not buildings and street noise, work and home obligations. To be in a residency setting is to be truly accepted for an
often-difficult life choice – that of being an artist. It is rare to receive that type of whole-hearted validation and it
goes a long way. Another plus about the Wintertide Retreat is that you can go for a short while without much extra
planning – just get away long enough to shift perspective, slow down, breathe more deeply. Thank you, Millay.
NR: My thoughts exactly. I arrived with the intention to quiet distractions and hear myself think. The first voice I
heard was that of the stunning landscape and light. The buildings and grounds at Millay in winter are quiet with
long, golden hour shadows and cinnamon colored reeds and towering evergreens, and Millay’s poems, written on
sign posts, beckon the walker along the forest path. The second voice I heard in the hush that ensued was my own,
reclaiming the instincts as an artist that I thought might be all but lost in the rush, congestion and noise of daily life
at home. Here, on residency, was a peace and freedom I could enter without end. It is a gift indeed to receive that
validation and honor. Yes, thank you, Millay!
NR: (laughing) There’s a playful spirit in the landscape at Millay, too, along with the deep sense of history of Edna
St. Vincent Millay’s life and work. This is what initially drew me to Millay, knowing a bit about her, touched by her
story, and wanting to connect as a poet especially to that legacy of a writer’s heart and an enduring sense of place.
We are so lucky that this special place is available for artists now.
WORKS:
Alice Momm
Top: Work in Progress, Pine Needles, Thread, dimensions variable.
Bottom: Interlude for Millay, 2023, Living willow, tree stumps, wicker, wood chips, native plantings, dimensions variable. Photo: Yael Eban
Nan Ring
Right: All This To Say That In Library The Light Called Your Name, 2023, Pastel on Paper, 24″ x 20″
Left: All This To Say That I Know You’re There Just Beyond, 2023, Pastel on Paper, 24″ x 20
Right: All This To Say I Never Lost Sight of You, 2023, Pastel on Paper, 24″ x 20″
Left: All This To Say That I Know You’re Always, 2023, Pastel on Paper, 24″ x 20
All This To Say I’m Thinking of You and Where We Are in Our Lives, 2023, Pastel on Paper, 40″ x 30″