The writer's cabin fantasy

Limitations and alternatives to the oft-romanticized secluded creative getaway

Lately I’ve been on a mission to debunk unhelpful creative myths, such as the notion that only certain people get to be artists or that one needs to keep taking classes to make art. Letting go of these limiting myths has been really freeing and joyful for my art practice, and I hope it has been benefiting yours.

But what about creative dream scenarios that enthrall us? Surely these are good north star visions to have for fulfilling creative lives? Today I’m writing to you about one common dream scenario, the writer cabin’s fantasy, and the limitations of said fantasy for our creative work. We’ll explore alternatives to this fantasy that can serve as enriching pursuits for your art practice.

Defining the writer’s cabin fantasy

Lots of literature and films perpetuate the idyllic image of a writer tucked away in isolated quarters. Henry David Thoreau’s Walden serves as the archetype, and films like The Shining and Secret Window show alternate (horror!) versions.

Though the cozy writer’s retreat may not always be a cabin, it usually has the following characteristics:

• Quiet and remote location

• Scenic views looking into the woods, mountains, or body of water

• Minimal internet and computer distractions, writing by hand or typewriter (or the fancy new Freewrite) for peak nostalgia

• Seclusion—no one around except peripheral characters who only intrude to tend to your needs

My favorite romanticized depiction of the writer’s cabin fantasy is in the ensemble rom-com Love Actually. Colin Firth plays Jamie, a London writer with a charming cottage in France where he can escape at a whim. The movie leans hard into the enchanting appeal of a writer’s retreat into nature, enhanced by a stunning lake view, a distraction-free typewriter, and a housekeeper to cater to his every whim and rescue his “shitty first draft” novel pages that blow away in the wind.

As an introvert I have often fantasized about having access to a house like this, a private place to write and make art. What a dream to be surrounded by nature’s beauty, putting pen to paper with no other distractions! This “off the grid” fantasy consumed much of my twenties and I wrote several short stories of characters who wanted to detach digitally and escape the trappings of modern life.

Yet I have never fully indulged in going fully off the grid in nature to make my art, not even on a solo weekend retreat. It's not just about time or money or safety, all valid reasons why the writer’s cabin often remains a fantasy. Rather, I’ve come to realize this daydream doesn’t actually align with my art process.

Examining the fantasy’s assumptions

Assumption #1: Seclusion is best for making art.

Painter Agnes Martin was a champion of solitude and seclusion, urging artists to “take every opportunity of being alone, that you give up having pets and unnecessary companions.”

Yet she was also deeply intimate with the downsides of isolation and how it can result in turning on one’s self. She breaks her own mythmaking many years after her initial flight from NYC to rural New Mexico:

A lot of people withdraw from society, as an experiment. So I thought I would withdraw and see how enlightening it would be. But I found out that it’s not enlightening. I think that what you’re supposed to do is stay in the midst of life.

Even Thoreau of Walden fame was not a hermit nor secluded from society. His cabin in Walden Pond was only a short distance to town, and he communed with family and fellow writers quite often.

Learning more about Agnes Martin and Henry David Thoreau helped me release the fantasy of going “off the grid.” Seclusion is not a requirement for making art; often it can be detrimental to our mental state.

Instead of complete isolation, we regularly carve out moments of solitude and stillness in our daily lives so we can hear our inner selves and make authentic art.

Both Martin and Thoreau had a network of artist friends they could discuss their work with, which is also key to a thriving practice. Many artist residencies aim to balance these dueling needs for solitude and community. Hedgebrook, a renowned women's writer's residency, provides writers individual cottages for solitary daytime pursuits while dinners are reserved for socializing.

Assumption #2: Simplifying and streamlining life is best for making art.

If you are able to retreat in privacy with few complications, you are likely an able-bodied person with lots of privilege. You are able to devote fully to your art because others keep up the daily responsibilities of cooking, cleaning, child rearing, and maintaining relationships.

I don’t want to discount the fact that much can be simplified in our day to day, especially if one downgrades their lifestyle, routinizes maintenance, or opts out of caretaking for elderly, children, or pets. But what about the value of piecemeal art that can be created amidst our complicated lives?

In The Baby on the Fire Escape: Creativity, Motherhood, and the Mind-Baby Problem, Julie Phillips delves into psychoanalyst Lisa Baraitser's research into maternal experiences:

Instead of wishing for more coherence, Baraitser looks at what could be gained from embracing a shared self. Against the solitary writer in the tower she places a subjectivity that…is alert to the questions that interruption asks of “normal” life.

Later Phillips reflects,

Perhaps interruption and disruption are not what keep me from seeing mothering clearly, but are the conditions of maternal creativity.

Baptismal Scene, 1967. By one of my favorite folk artists Clementine Hunter, who started painting in her forties using discarded tubes

With folk art and crafts such as quilting, embroidery, and weaving, countless women throughout history have displayed artistic merit through work in which they stop and start again.¹ This cyclical way of being also helps to innovate beyond traditional climactic structures of storytelling. I particularly love how Sheila Heti uses the menstrual cycle as a narrative framework in her book Motherhood, adding realism and complexity to reflect the nature of women’s lives.

Simplifying our lives can fight off resistance so we have more time and space to make art. Having that time and space is incredibly valuable, but it cannot make good art by itself. We need full, textured lives that we can observe, reflect, and distill into something greater.

We embrace the messiness of our lives and pay attention to our quiet thoughts, finding moments of clarity and inspiration amid our eventful days.

Assumption #3. A long, concentrated period of time is best for making art.

As a multi-hyphenate with an art practice that I balance with my job and relationships, I pick up projects in fits and starts. Once I am sure of a fleshed out project idea, I work on it incrementally and find myself surprised to see the project come together across many broken up hours. I have several projects going at once, some small, some large.

My choppy process may not fit the romanticized image of an artist's life, but it works for me and countless other artists who make their work in stolen hours while working day jobs and caretaking for loved ones. This is the reality of balancing art with everyday responsibilities.

I’ve written about the perils of relying on classes to compel us to make art, and the writer’s cabin fantasy similarly serves as a carrot to drive our practice. If we keep seeking out new environments to make our art in long, infrequent bursts while avoiding our art in our daily lives, how can we ever develop a consistent, long-lasting practice?

By making art in the margins of our busy lives, we commit to an art practice grounded in patience, resilience, and resourcefulness.

Alternatives to the writer’s cabin fantasy

I’ve mentioned solitude, community, and observation as keys to a thriving art practice. The final key is devotion, probably the biggest factor when it comes to the allure of said fantasy.

A change of scenery, especially in nature, is a huge help in turning towards our art. We’re newly motivated, freshly inspired, less distracted, and physically away from our everyday responsibilities and worries. Away from home we can no longer putter away, forcing us to face resistance head-on.

What are some viable alternatives to the writer’s cabin fantasy when we crave a fresh landscape?

• Artist residencies, like Milkwood or the aforementioned Hedgebrook. Residencies will often take care of cooking and cleaning for you—what a gift! Of course, not all residencies are worthwhile. Hannah Bae, a friend who has attended the most residencies out of anyone I know, wrote this excellent guide to navigating writing residencies as a POC.

• A DIY retreat with artist friends, where you can share responsibilities and have great conversation while respecting each other’s needs for solitude. My friend Nicole has great tips on organizing a creative retreat (we’ve now had two together!) and I share my own tips for a structured Pomodoro retreat below.

  DIY deep work retreat

• Home swaps, which you can find on sites like Listings Project or ask around amongst your networks or on Instagram. I’ve seen a bunch of illustrators do this between NYC and London, and it seems perfect for minimal financial burden.

• Julia Cameron’s artist date, a solo adventure for feeding your inner artist, or a one day digital detox as an approachable way of moving towards devotion and observation.

• Immersing in nature to reclaim our attention (attention restoration theory has shown that concentration improves after spending time outdoors), combined with long walk proven to boost creativity. Author Florence Williams distills this in The Nature Fix: Why Nature Makes Us Happier, Healthier, and More Creative:

  Go outside, often, sometimes in wild places. Bring friends or not. Breathe.

Have you fantasized about having a “writer’s cabin” of your own, or go on secluded getaways to make your art? If you have—how was your experience? If not—what prevents you from doing so? Do share any suggestions you have in the comments.

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1. I highly recommend reading Daily Rituals: Women at Work by

Mason Currey

if you’re craving more real life accounts of how women make their art!