“They’re either watching TV, sleeping, or making love,” it’s the guess my friend David hazarded.
It was a Sunday, not too long ago. It seems so far away now though. It was before the virus, before social distancing, before people in our country and our neighborhood started dying.
We were sitting at Janos and Theresa’s Gallery as was our habit most Sundays. We’d read the New York Times while our kids made art and happily followed each other back and forth between the gallery and Clipper Coffee.
There was usually a pretty steady flow of traffic in the gallery on Sundays but it was forebodingly quiet that day.
“Where is everybody?” I wondered looking out the wall-to-wall windows where, even on cloudy days like the one I’m remembering, the sun makes a big entrance.
I wondered how many people were actually home making love, what the world would be like if even half of the people who weren’t out and about were home making something, anything, beautiful: Art, connection, freedom, love, peace, a delicious meal.
Doubtful, I wished I had the data.
A few weeks later, when so many of us were ordered home from work and school, I reached out to my friend Meg, a talented artist. When she’d been my roommate in Florence, I could watch her paint for hours. Since then, she’s become so successful at her day job…well, what with the commute from Jersey to Manhattan and all, sadly, she’s mostly asked her art to be patient, to take a backseat, to wait until….
You know that drill.
We’ve all been there. After all, there are only so many hours in a day and so many things we “have to” do with them.
And I wonder: Do we adequately vet the source of these imperatives? You know, like good journalists and researchers do with their sources?
Unless you’re presently in healthcare (P.S. I love you), chances are the day-to-day sands of time have shifted in your favor recently.
My artist turned non-profit friend, Meg, had more time on her hands without a daily commute from New Jersey to Manhattan.
“Now that I’m working from home, I want to paint,” she said “but I’m wringing my hands instead.”
I know the feeling and I know these are hard times. Please, don’t tell me I’m committing an act of spiritual bypassing with what I’m about to encourage you to do.
Art is nothing if not proof of God/the Universe/something bigger than our selves, depending on what you believe. Practicing your art is a chance to go deeper into discovery and peace and presence.
And artists? Well, when we stop and listen, God/the Universe/something bigger than our selves whispers in our ears.
Have you seen the Sistine chapel ceiling?
Case closed.
This is a time for artists!
Not because it’s easier, but precisely because—even if you’ve got more time on your hands—it’s harder.
Last summer in D.C., at the National Gallery, where my kids and I spied this post’s featured picture by Childe Hassam. I couldn’t help but notice that artists get going when the going gets tough.
Like fire fighters who run into burning buildings when everyone else is trying to get out of them…
Like our hospital workers who bring themselves to work in places crawling with germs when everyone else is doing their damndest to avoid them…
Artists (and by artist I certainly mean to include entrepreneurs, content creators, and writers) go in to the deep reservoir of their feelings—and heighten them through their art--when most everyone else is trying to numb them. They partner with bigger forces to create new realities.
At the National Gallery that day, this truth became clear to me.
Artists always have, and likely always will, play a crucial part in crisis because we follow art’s imperatives. No surprise, those promptings are often synonymous with what the heart wants, what evolution needs.
So, please, if you want to make a difference, if you need to do something worthwhile right now in the face of so much human loss and suffering, take even a little bit of the time available to you now and invest it in making something beautiful from inside your own home.
It doesn’t have to be epic. It doesn’t have to put pressure on you. In fact, it will probably alleviate pressure when you develop the habit. For now, I suggest you allow what you’re making to exist in the time you choose. For example, I’m making a half hour of writing weekdays at whatever time suits you, and yours, best.
Set yourself up for success. Communicate your needs to your family, friends, and/or pets. For example, from noon to one every weekday, I’ll be in my office with the door closed working on my____________________.
You can do this. You can make even the most fearful and tired world a better place when you do what you love, when you follow your feelings, because the imperatives that come from the most reliable sources are those that come from our very own hearts and souls.
Until next time, stay healthy and strong. Make art, connection, freedom, love, peace, a delicious meal. Hell, have your cake and eat it too! You don’t have to choose. You can feel fearful and worried one minute, and still be grounded and strong the next. You can take the ugly truths of our world and make them beautiful. You have my blessing. Go on with your “bad” self. Really, go.
“Tomorrow is not promised,” it’s what my friend David always tells me when I’m procrastinating. He’s right. Tomorrow has never been promised to anyone. It never will be, even after the virus is gone.
Love,
Clementina
P.S. You have my blessing. If you want additional support from me, I am still working via zoom. You can contract me for private coaching, and/or group courses in personal/memoir writing AND fiction. Coming soon: Write Better Content. If you are interested in any of these please contact me at clementina@clementinacollective.com
And if you’re on FB. Most weekdays at 12:30 I’m live reading one of my favorite children’s books. Tune in. Bring yourself, or if you’ve got ‘em children and'/or pets.
As always, if you spot a typo or some other oversight on my part (very tricky to continue to “see” your own work) please feel free to reach out to me with it, or not. I’m letting perfectionism go in an effort to communicate more freely with you and in real time too. That said, I care deeply about language and welcome the opportunity to correct my mistakes. Meanwhile, I’m grateful I’m not a brain surgeon;)