Painting Through a Pandemic

One of the things I am doing during our time at home is listening to podcasts and books on tape.   One of my favourites is  On Being.    It was there I heard an interview with Pauline Boss.  She termed the phrase Ambiguous Loss.   This is a “loss that occurs without closure or clear understanding.” 

  This type of loss leaves a person searching for

answers in times where there are delays or

complications so that grief is not fully processed. 

As I was listening to the interview, I thought that is what we all are experiencing. 

  We are grieving our past lives and opportunities.  

We are grieving all those things that we once took for granted.  

When I look at my daily life not much has changed.   I spent a lot of time alone in my studio.  That remains the same.   But I am not able to go out easily.  I need to measure the risks and then mask up.  I feel a distance from my friends.  I am missing teaching in person.  I am mourning the lost opportunity for travel.  

The added complication is realizing that many things have changed and the uncertainty that comes with that.   It is the mourning of the way things were without really putting our finger on it.

Yet life is change.  

And adaptation is one of the greatest gifts we are given.   I have wondered about the resilience of those who have faced tragedy in their lives.   What lessons do they have to share with us?    

A few years ago, I was doing research in conjunction with a grant proposal linked to the importance of creativity and aging.   I remember reading an Italian study. 

It showed that seniors who even had one art class weekly benefited in both mental and physical health.  They saw their doctors less often, took fewer medications, and were more positive.  This positivity was linked to a forward manner of thinking.  The subjects of the study, who focused on current and future events, were less likely to dwell in the past. You could say they were living in the now, at the moment.   

Art making is a form of living in the now for me. 

Creating art involves an act of hope.

“Hope frees, hope relieves; hope

moves us.  Artists move people from inspiration to

action and direct hope toward a new reality that

can be shared by everyone. In the end

 Hope matters.”

Just before things were shut down Pat and I went to a poetry reading at the University.   We were fortunate to listen to Canadian poet Lee Maracle who read from her book, Hope Matters.

This poetry book, written with her two daughters poets Columpa Bobb and Tania Carter, focuses on the journey of Indigenous people from colonial beginnings to reconciliation.   She is a poet I admire, and she has a lot to say about resilience and creativity. 

So my personal act of hope is to head to the studio.

I started with smaller studies as I just didn’t have the focus to do the bigger paintings.   I’ve tried to paint most days but am easy on myself if that doesn’t happen.   I am trying to learn how to be kinder to myself.

When I am painting, I am able to sink into it.   I block out the outer world and just concentrate on what is in front of me.  Of the paint, the colour the brush strokes.   That bit of normalcy is a blessing. 

You can see them on my website under intimate paintings.   I have kept them simple so that if people want them, they can afford them.  And that also makes it easier for me to mail them to you.    

And so I find myself painting through a pandemic.

For me, it is a small individual act of courage. Of finding simple joy in these scary times. Of trying to find a quiet centre for me to be creative. Of finding a place for hope.