We're nearing the end of the seventh week of shelter in place. A lot of people are approaching this as a time of contemplation, of pausing from the hyper busyness of the past couple of years. I'm pausing and reflecting in my own achievement-oriented way by writing a memoir. It's not something I'd want anyone else to read, but rather it's an exercise in remembering. Does my life have a meaningful narrative? What relationships contributed to the person I am now? What visual experiences led me to be an artist in a seemingly non-visual family? How much can I remember, and if I write it down, can I remember more? As a lover of color and form, can I be a lover of words, too?
Every morning I sit down to write for about four hours. As I progress through the decades, I toss old gilt diaries into the trash. When I leave my computer, my eyes won't focus on distance, and it's hard to readjust to face masks, lines at grocery stores, and unemployed friends. How the world has changed since 1963, since 2019! I rediscover my current self and reaclimate to the world I live in now by going to the studio and painting for a few hours in the afternoon.
Are you writing during this time? Would you like to? Let me know!
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