Originally taken from the Italian word ‘quarantena’ (derivative of quaranta) meaning forty, the term has actually always referred to a period of isolation against the spread of a disease and/or pest. It was initially reserved for ships and their passengers in the 14th and 15th Century during the Black Plague epidemic, but the act of isolation itself has dated back to the Old Testament. I’m not sure why they arrived at the 40 day mark exactly, but I’m sure it has a valid explanation. BUT. If we were to use that yardstick against what is happening right now, it puts a very interesting spin to things...
I am now entering Day 84 of Quarantine - Day 80 as per the the lockdown set by our national government. My country has gone through all the stages of grief - Denial that this was something to be concerned with; Anger about the lockdown that was imposed; Bargaining with the authorities to allow for essential movement like going back to our home states; Depression at the bleak prospect of the actual extent of the virus and the seemingly endless impact with absolutely no end in sight; and finally Acceptance that this is something that’s here to stay and we just have to adapt or be absorbed and move on. On an individual level, you can tangibly see people at different points in the Kübler-Ross model - the only difference being the individual subjects/targets for each stage; but we’re all definitely following the same trajectory. It’s important to highlight at this point that my country has a population of 1.37 billion people and growing, literally by the minute. The numbers alone are enough to cost anyone their sleep or sense of sanity; but even in these extremely murky times, one needs to take a moment to wonder at the human sense of resilience. And despite the hideously ugly side of humanity that this pandemic has also brought to light, it is quite incredible to see the amounts of generosity, empathy, and solidarity between people.
But I digress.
I think what has definitely been the toughest pill to swallow is the sheer inability to wrap my head around the enormity of the situation and its very deep impact that it has had on my work.
I live alone with my cat. We make a good team and we have a solid rapport worked out in terms of unconventional schedules and reversed work hours. So when they did announce the lockdown, it didn’t throw me into a fit of panic at the thought of the lack of contact with the outside world. In fact, my lifestyle per se hasn’t changed much at all! I am used to being on my own and maintaining a low level of contact with the social world, so this just suddenly silenced the otherwise bunch of naysayers who had been berating me for my reclusiveness. But as each day has passed, I have found it increasingly difficult to produce any artwork. Putting pen to paper suddenly seems impossible and I find myself sitting at my drafting table staring at my piece in hand, the nib of my pen drying up as I hold it poised over my paper, just unable to make a mark. I have tried every trick in the book. I have scared the crap out of myself with the deadlines I’m on. I have talked to friends and family and gotten them to lecture me. I have created newer tinier projects to help me just get back into the groove of things; taken up other pieces of work that have absolutely NOTHING to do with pen or paper. I have written; played with Lint (afore-mentioned cat); cooked; laid down in a heap, stretched out (at different points in time - I’m Indian doesn’t necessarily make me a yogi by default!). I have pontificated, cogitated and pondered over the details of my work; changed pieces and attempted starting new ones. But nothing has worked. I find myself in a completely catatonic state every time I sit down, physically unable to commit to any pen stroke.
The pressure is insane because the directive is clear: lockdown = time to be ultra creative. One must be producing thrice as much as one would have before the pandemic was declared. I understand. The source of our livelihoods as we knew it is up for redefinition, and no one wants to be forgotten or left behind. Also, this forced timeout so to speak has given a lot of creatives the time to start projects they had always wanted to do but didn’t have the bandwidth to in the daily race of client work and earning livelihoods. So where does that leave me? Does this suddenly make me less of an artist, or a creative because I’m not being able to produce vast quantities of amazing work? Where is my pièce de résistance or my magnum opus? By delving into the fire, how have I not risen again revealing the brilliant hues of my creative plumage? I seem to be as grey and featherless as I was when I fell off my perch to begin with. So, by taking time, am I burying myself deeper into oblivion and becoming a part of the white noise rather than successfully swimming against the tide and being able to be the sound that snaps you out of you reverie?
It is very hard to be an independent creative working on your own. It is hard to constantly push yourself every day to produce your best. It feels like you are constantly on display, and more importantly, you HAVE TO be on display; else you lose. No missing a beat, no missing a moment; else you lose. You snooze, you lose. You stop and breathe; you lose. Every scenario has to be an opportunity. Every incident a new idea.
And that is hard.
Because creativity is exhausting.
And when reality as you’ve known it does not exist anymore and the rules for the new version of it haven’t been laid out yet; it’s stressful. Where do you begin? How do you stay on top of things when you feel like you’re falling down through a vortex? I can assure you, when Alice followed the Hare into the rabbit hole, the thought that struck her as she fell wasn’t “Oh, how exciting!” It was more likely, “That was the dumbest decision I have ever taken.” And possibly “I think I’m going to throw up.” Because the acidic taste of fear is hard to shake. What were you supposed to have done to prepare you for a curved ball like this? How are you supposed to stay positive when the game plan you had has gone to pot in a way you really could not have possibly imagined? And how do you justify heralding (or lamenting about) the personal work and art in times of such adversity where people are dying at the hands of ignorance, hate, prejudice or for being born on the wrong side of the economic line? It’s always been hard for me to look at my work as solely a career move, or a task in hand. Drawing is so much more than that. Each piece I produce - whether for a client or for myself - has a huge amount of me in it. It takes thought and planning and careful consideration. So it’s difficult to separate the emotion from the execution. And this is one of the biggest aspects of my work I grossly underestimated when the pandemic hit. The pieces I produce during this time has a lot more conflict in them than any other. They are and will be some of the toughest pieces I created for this very reason. Staying focused on the subject I chose to work on before the pandemic and staying true to the project despite the calamities that are rocking the world is the hardest thing I’ve had to do. Because the subject is so very different from today’s reality. And then, that is accompanied with an almost quixotic feeling of disingenuousness. Waking up each day and having to divide my time between cooking, cleaning, drawing, writing, fundraising, maintaining an active chirpy positive presence on social media so you’re in the forefront (or there about) of everyone’s mind, and yet somehow staying motivated through it all despite the terrible news hitting me from all sides is truly a Herculean task.
But here’s what my BIGGEST learning from the lockdown has been:
My life has been put in to a perspective I hadn’t ever really focused on before, and I find I have allowed myself to question the priorities I have been living with for so long. It has brought to light what the term "essential" means not just in terms of provisions, but people and relationships and what truly constitutes as important or necessary. My artwork has always had the ability to transport me to a different space and time, but it has revealed a whole new side of me to myself at this point. It has helped me remember a time when the conviction in what I was doing was as obvious as breathing, and it has taken me back to that point and forced me to relive it even if it isn’t a constant at the moment. And those spurts of conviction are like buoys amidst crashing waves and lashing rain. It has reminded me of a place of inner peace and solitude that I do tend to lose sight of in all that is going on right now. At the same time, it has left me completely frustrated at the restrictions I have constructed for myself from spaces of fear and disillusionment. But it has taught me to see it, and identify it, and work with it rather than succumb to it. To be my own conviction even when doors are being slammed and the game plan I had at the beginning of the year is fast crumbling to dust. And that is something to hold on to. Its brings everything down to the smallest most basic unit: yourself. Why are you doing what you are doing? Why did you choose it? What was the goal and why were you so convinced of it? And at this point, does it still stand? Because if it does, that’s worth putting blinkers on and keeping in sight. And if it doesn’t, then figure out what does and work toward it. What is the bigger picture? What is the bigger picture? What is the bigger picture? Because the rest doesn’t matter.
And with that, I push aside the doubt, sit back down at my drawing board and draw my first line of the day. It doesn’t matter if it takes longer to do than it used to, and it doesn’t matter if the number of lines I draw today are less than what I did before. I made the mark. I spilt the ink. And it is alright. And it IS worth it.
Because I believe it.