It's lonely in the undertow. (Corona Sketchbook entry)

I remember, when I was much younger, learning about undertows and how to survive being caught in one. There are currents that run through the water, under the surface, not just the visible push and pull of the tide you see standing at the shore. Any open-ocean-facing beach has an undertow, a current you can get caught in against your will. It can carry you right out into open ocean, far away from where you want to be. It’s a lonely and potentially fatal experience, being caught in an undertow. If you try to struggle against it, you’ll likely end up dangerously exhausted and pulled further away from shore. People drown this way. The best advice I ever heard, when I was living on an island, is to not panic in an undertow. Panic is your enemy. Instead you need to relax your muscles, enter into flotation mode and ride the current. You may find that the undertow spits you out much further down the shore, and then you just have to make your way back to your towel on foot. Or, if you’re focused, you’ll feel the point when something shifts in the water and you can swim your way out of the current. Even as I sit here typing this I can conjure very clearly - and fondly - the sensation of relaxing into the undertow. Is that strange to say? There is comfort in the sensation of giving over to a force of nature you cannot control, of sitting next to your fear and trusting. You have to believe that you’ll be OK, wherever the waves spit you out. Without that belief you will begin to panic, and that’s when you’re most in jeopardy.

For years I’ve had a recurring dream of being in the ocean at night. The water is both danger and safety at the same time.

Corona Sketchbook April 3

Yesterday while I was waiting in line to get into the Whole Foods in Providence, I saw a flock of crows soar past the building on the wind. They were fluid ink marks against the gray sky. Their motion was in contrast with us as we stood on the concrete walk, six feet apart. I wondered if they could see us as they tilted into and out of the wind.

Corona Sketchbook

Trying to do at least one page (usually more) every morning as part of my new routine. This is an old notebook that I started 5+ years ago, but I didn’t get very far with it. There were sketches in here that I wasn’t happy with, so I pasted new papers onto the pages and started over. Or in some cases I just painted over the old images and integrated old and new. These are March 30 - April 3.

Adapting and Waiting

When Covid-19 hit our community, the classes I’d been teaching to middle school kids were cancelled. I thought I’d spend my free time working non-stop in my studio. Prior to all the shutdowns and cancellations, I’d been on an energetic high and very productive, making work for upcoming shows in May and August.

But what I’d been expecting to happen did not happen. Instead I lost focus. My head has been foggy. Time is skewed with the parameters of work and errands and outer-world activities erased.

I go into the studio and try and fail to work. I cannot bring my body or my brain to focus. I’ve talked to other artists and creatives who are experiencing the same thing. .

My partner and I are self-isolating in our home in Providence, RI. We are fortunate to have a yard so I can spend time outside. Working in the yard has been very grounding. Tending to living things is therapeutic. We have chickens, dogs, and cats. I’m so grateful for their company and love. They have no idea what’s going on, they just need us to keep doing what we’ve always done for them, and that forces us to maintain a level of normalcy.

I am worried about the things that everyone is worried about - health and finances, and the health and finances of my loved ones; I’m worried about the world and what this is doing to already-vulnerable people. My coping mechanism is to focus on smaller things, because I cannot control so many larger things. So cleaning the house, painting rooms, raking the yard, keeping the pantry stocked (without hoarding) is therapeutic.

I’m writing more, making lists, and sketching. I mostly cleared the studio projects off my work table and wall. I’m giving the studio a fresh, bright white coat of paint.

My strategy right now is to work without trying to predetermine the meaning or future use of what I’m making. It’s not important to KNOW right now. Its important to be in the moment and receive whatever is coming through. It’s important to sit in the river and let the water do its thing around you, to observe the water, to be receptive to the lessons you might take from the water. Or to stand in the forest and listen to the trees - similar metaphor here. To just pause and not be in control, and not freak out about the loss of control. That alone will keep you occupied most days.