I’m fairly sure I won’t be the only one thinking this but the anguished outpouring about self- isolation and tips for coping with social distancing is growing a little tired for me. Those of us with physical/mental barriers will report that most of our lives in fact are spent at a distance and isolated, and not necessarily for the good of our health.
However, that’s not an issue I wish to dwell on too much. It has become clear as I hunker down with my son and husband at home – I didn’t realise how lucky I was.
That was glib – but it makes a point.
I’m really enjoying some high-quality family-time, I think all three of us are. We are playing, learning, resting and eating together with a sense of ease and enjoyment that often eludes the day-to-day routine.
The ‘new normal’ has drawn my attention to just how much space I have in the nine-ish hours of quiet isolation I am accustomed to each day. I mustn’t forget at this point that I often feel this isolation is imposed on me and that I long for more engagement with the outside world for the benefit of my artistic practice and my mental health.
However, I’m thinking about this sudden and brutal change in circumstances as I adjust from what was an enforced, imperfect situation for one to what is an enforced, impractical situation for three.
I find myself noticing how much I need the physical space for art materials/mess, unlimited access to the kitchen table and the ability to select silence or soundtrack as required. Just as vital is the thinking space, rumination time and furtive procrastination essential to creative output. The ebb and flow of hours and ideas and the crescendo to action. The opportunity for these things has pretty much stopped dead in its tracks. This morning as I tried to articulate an idea on the page, I hit one key before my six-year-old stormed in after an altercation with Dad over imperative verbs (bossy verbs). Concentration broken before it was even established.
Then I think about actually making my artwork; the act of drawing, conceiving of an image. I’m completely reliant on that space, that liminal space, when an idea transitions from an impulse to a real thing in the world. Then I have to live with the picture for a while, and if it survives my obsessive criticism it can stay.
Is that mark too neat?
Is that form too contrived?
What does that colour say?
That line is too thick.
That has an uneasy feel about it.
I hate A4 paper.
I should always draw on a square.
I think I should make myself a manifesto like Rebecca Morris so that when this invasion of my thinking/being space is over, I can remember all these ridiculous yet imperative (bossy) rules for making my work.
I sometimes forget that making art is Work. It’s frustrating, time consuming, labour intensive and not always rewarding. I’m lucky to have time to dedicate to making work – pre-COVID19. I’m starting to wonder if working from home post-COVID19 is a bad idea though. I mean, home should be where everyone gathers at a time of crisis or a space for a child to have a tantrum. I don’t think I want it to be my place of work going forward. I think I’ve just realised that if the conditions for working are not right, then how can the output be satisfactory? Everything is on hold – I know that, but if this disruption can provide a reason to re-evaluate our ‘normal’ life and working practices, that could be really useful.
I believe I have asked myself the right questions here. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to answer them, and now doesn’t feel like the right time.
