I admit that by month seven – or whatever the hell it is – of this pandemic, I’m frazzled. I’m certainly not alone. Anyone with a pulse feels the same. I don’t feel I can complain because I’m 1) alive; 2) healthy; 3) roof over my head and food on my table (and hips). Therefore, I shouldn’t complain. And I won’t.
My SAVIOR is painting. I write, teach writing and involved in lots of other things. But my escape, my happy place is my canvas.
I’m working on something not only “new” in terms of style, but “new” in terms of form and content. A former writing student, now a woman of 32, recently moved to New York. I’m painting something for her new apartment. It’s extremely challenging because I’ve never done anything quite like it, but when you’re doing something you love, something you want to do, you manage to overcome hurdles that, in other circumstances, you’d walk away from.
The subject matter also brings me back to my years of living in NYC. This particular “spot” may well have been my fondest memory. A place that holds a special place in my heart.
It took me too MANY years to learn to enjoy the process. The process is all there is. It’s a lesson for Covid times and, all times.
If we’re going to make it through fucking Covid – we’ve got to find something that brings us joy (to steal form Marie Kondo) and makes us forget the world around us, for some period of time each and every day.