During these unsettling times should one turn to reading Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking, Nostradamus, or the Book of Revelation?
For the past six months I have had difficulty focusing or finding motivation for my art, or much else actually. In my travels across Canada and America from the west coast to the east and the Arctic to the Gulf, I’ve visited dozens of artist colonies, retreats, studios, galleries and museums from Dean Francis’s Empress galleries to Washington’s Smithsonian museums, and have found artists range from the gregarious who thrive in clubs and painting shoulder to shoulder to the hermetic recluse. I am of the latter—I sketch in my basement, alone. I was practicing self-quarantine before it became fashionable so social isolation has had little effect on me as an artist. The closure of venues for exhibits has also been of minimal effect as declining health had already curtailed my involvement, and having turned to art for the personal challenge and satisfaction, exhibits and sales were never a motivation for my art anyway.
As for themes, for several months I tried sketches related to the current conditions but found little satisfaction in them. I returned to my usual subjects, but as unmotivated. So why the change? Two other events have occurred in the past six months. First, I caught a virus that has aggravated my COPD and left me easily tired, on oxygen, unable to do many things I once could, depressed and even more impatient than usual. Second, in December I dropped my membership in the local art society and in April my term on a provincial executive expired, leaving me plenty of time to pursue other endeavors. As a result I’ve turned my efforts to my first interest, writing fiction. Perhaps it was just time for a change.
For the past six months I have had difficulty focusing or finding motivation for my art, or much else actually. In my travels across Canada and America from the west coast to the east and the Arctic to the Gulf, I’ve visited dozens of artist colonies, retreats, studios, galleries and museums from Dean Francis’s Empress galleries to Washington’s Smithsonian museums, and have found artists range from the gregarious who thrive in clubs and painting shoulder to shoulder to the hermetic recluse. I am of the latter—I sketch in my basement, alone. I was practicing self-quarantine before it became fashionable so social isolation has had little effect on me as an artist. The closure of venues for exhibits has also been of minimal effect as declining health had already curtailed my involvement, and having turned to art for the personal challenge and satisfaction, exhibits and sales were never a motivation for my art anyway.
As for themes, for several months I tried sketches related to the current conditions but found little satisfaction in them. I returned to my usual subjects, but as unmotivated. So why the change? Two other events have occurred in the past six months. First, I caught a virus that has aggravated my COPD and left me easily tired, on oxygen, unable to do many things I once could, depressed and even more impatient than usual. Second, in December I dropped my membership in the local art society and in April my term on a provincial executive expired, leaving me plenty of time to pursue other endeavors. As a result I’ve turned my efforts to my first interest, writing fiction. Perhaps it was just time for a change.