March seems a long time ago. I wasn't really prepared. I read and heard the news but it seemed distant and not real. And then it was.
I made a quick trip to my studio. Everything was quiet there with few cars in the parking lot. I gathered up some stuff I had been working on and loaded my car and headed home.
My art journal ended Jan 17th and started up again April 27th the first day I returned to the studio; mask on, hand sanitizer in my pocket.
The world changed and so did my art practice.
I had begun working on some stitched pieces towards the end of 2019. Large combines of paintings and fabric. It felt good if a bit aimless. I started things not quite knowing where they would end up. Sometimes they looked pretty good; sometimes interesting; all a bit directionless.
At home I sat at a small table in my bedroom looking at quiet streets and sidewalks, a month earlier filled with cars, runners, bikers and walkers. The world, not just my neighborhood was different.
I heard that an old friend was hospitalized with the virus. Shortly after the stunning news came. He died alone in an intensive care unit. His wife and family couldn't visit.
It was very real.
I was alone. I couldn't see family and friends. I obsessively listened to the news and scoured the internet for information.
I turned off the news and banished my phone and sat at my table sewing. A bit Madame LaFarge, perhaps?
Sewing is repetitive and tactile.