At some point during the blur of lockdown, my far away son mentioned that he’d written a novel and would I like to read it? This news surprised and delighted me. Henry’s strongest natural talents fall into the categories of music and visual art. It’s true he incorporates a lot of words in his work but a novel was nothing I ever imagined him wanting to create.
Meanwhile, in a Freaky Friday scenario, I took up painting during this same period of time. As my son surprised me with his pursuit of writing, I surprised myself with my new passion. Ever since my fourth grade art teacher insisted I was doing art wrong, I shied away from the visual and stuck with words. Then, suddenly, nearly fifty years after being informed of my lack of talent, I could not put down the brush. I did flowers and self portraits, abstracts and landscapes, seascapes and animal renderings. I tried out watercolors, acrylics, oils, gouache, and mixed media. Often I painted on huge canvases.
A painter friend gave me a few lessons. I occasionally took online tutorials and, eventually as the world re-opened, a couple of in-person classes. Mostly I just went at the canvas as I saw fit, my near total lack of knowledge offering—I see now—a lot of freedom. In some ways it was like I’d gone back in time, had an encouraging word with fourth grade me, and picked up right where I’d left off back in 1974.
So, yes, a lot of my “body of work” is elementary, folkish, childlike. When I look at it now, years after the “peak” of my art streak, I find myself incredibly satisfied. I truly don’t care if anyone else sees this work, let alone admires it. What I see when I look at my canvases is less about the images and more about that time I let myself cut loose, explore the unknown wilderness of art, and refuse to be self-critical.
Then, nearly as swiftly and unexpectedly as the muse had descended upon me, it disappeared. I still paint now and then, but it’s been forever since I took on a huge canvas. When I do pick up the brush, I make small watercolor sketches and super tiny Texas landscapes in oil.
I think, like my son and me, a lot of us delved into new-to-us pursuits during the pandemic. I wonder if these urges were brought on by some back-of-the-mind flashing messages suggesting we all might be dead very soon, so better get cracking on all the things we’d put off.
Painting was hardly the only sudden passion I developed during that odd time. I took lessons in roller skating, French pastry making, silversmithing, ceramics, illustration and yoga teacher certification. The common thread, I see now, is that I immersed myself in physical activities like never before. I did continue to write some, including a manuscript I’m not sure I ever want to look at again. But I far more enjoyed processes that involved hands-on application—I mean hands on things other than my trusty keyboard: punching dough, soldering metal, maneuvering a brush. Perhaps I knew instinctively, subconsciously, that my mind would better survive if I distracted it from too much thinking by pursuing activities that necessitated doing.
Such cognitive dissonance, turning my house into a sort of cheerful Senior Montessori School amidst perpetual terrifying headlines about the mounting covid death count. Fiddling whilst Rome burnt, playing music on the deck of a sinking luxury liner.
I read my son’s novel. It was really good. I told him if he wanted to pursue publication I would be glad to help with revisions. He had no interest in this. As painting for myself had been enough for me, writing for his own satisfaction had been enough for him. I’ve resumed my focus on words, he on visuals.
As I mentioned last week, I’ve spent plenty of time—not done yet—trying to untangle the worst parts of lockdown, how angry I got, and how bizarre the whole protracted timeout was. But I hope to always remember the amazing parts, too. All that time waiting to be filled up with so many possibilities for killing it, all that space in which to work on fun stuff I surely would not have tried out otherwise. Truly a bright shining silver lining to all that fear and disruption.
I’m curious how lockdown inspired you. Did you experience a fear-driven need to finally take up something you’d been putting off forever? Did you make art, write a book, get hooked on exercise, become an expert in a niche topic, take up some craft? Did it help you through? Are you still doing it?
NOTES:
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Love,
Uncle Spike
During COVID, my Significant Other and I engaged in the sport of badminton. My body needed to move, and my mind desperately needed a distraction. We would play several games a day. We didn't really play by the rules. We just hit the birdie over the net to each other until we were exhausted!
After it got dark, I would submerge myself in jigsaw puzzles. I was obsessed and laser-focused on each piece, trying to shut out the horrific news that seemed to be bombarding me on an hourly basis.
Still play an occasional game of badminton and enjoy doing jigsaw puzzles with my granddaughters.
Its not exactly a new thing for me but, during Covid I ramped up hospitality at the hospital, especially during snowmageadon. Baking banana and pumpkin bread for staff and making coffee and tea. Just trying to make myself feel better about everything by doing the only thing I know would be welcomed. Such strange times. Love the dog painting. I have not really ever tried painting. Maybe I will try after writing for a while.