Every one of our lives is unique because of the level of bullshit we choose to deal with on a daily basis. Ashley’s got three kids with a despondent partner. Eddie’s got a father with type two diabetes. Shaun can’t seem to crawl out from under his couch. For most of us, the weight of all that bullshit is too much to bear. For many of us, it’s too important not to bear. Clarissa’s addiction put her family into debt. Michelle was attacked inside her home. Richard’s been cheating on his wife for ten years.
Now, however, we’ve all been equally dealt the next round of bullshit on our backs, and it isn’t COVID-19. It isn’t even the idiocracy that is Donald Trump. No, the bullshit we’re dealing with now in 2020 is the instant hangover that comes with a lifetime of being metaphorically whipped into shape by our anxieties. Like a horse - whipped and Haw’d and shot at. You’re not good enough! Keep moving! Work harder!
The bullshit we’ve been dealt is called Reality — it’s fucking dead, man.
I live in New York City. Brooklyn, actually, but the city looks better on film. The obvious must be said — normally these streets are packed with people. And cars. People who have places to go. People who work in the neighboring areas. Wanderers — people like me who often wander with no destination. There are even more homeless on the street at this hour.
It’s hard to get the perfect visual for exactly how the Corona Virus is effecting us. The tiktok’s are incredible and often heartwarming. Some of the music that’s coming out of this creative hour can help reflect on the current mood ( I recently discovered NIN found time to finish an album - very somber. Perfect). But the problem is that no one medium that can accurately depict how we’re feeling — I don’t even think these photos do it for me but it’s all I had and I wanted to post something.
The feeling we can’t depict isn’t a feeling at all. It’s a void.
There is no hope in depicting this stage of our lives with a single medium. It can’t be done because there is nothing here. Our collected momentum has come to a screeching halt. The streets are quiet. The coffee shops are empty. When I went on the drive through Manhattan for these photos (which was very dangerous by the way and I do not encourage it, but for some reason photographers seem to be living dangerously lately because the majority of people I saw were all carrying a camera) I stepped into Washington Square Park and I swear I heard the leaves in the trees rustling. For the first time ever in the this city I could hear the American flag’s thick fabric flapping in the wind. There wasn’t the regular deafening noise of other people’s bullshit. No oppressing level of stress brought on by the competitive nature of anyone you pass on the street.
And that’s what I want to get to - the effect this event has had on the individual’s capacity for creativity. Specifically - how has creativity been encouraged for the past hundred years, and can we finally evolve from that? How has it been encouraged? I like to think, poorly. Creativity’s been encouraged through use of identity politics and branding strategies. It’s been watered down and marketed to the masses so there can be a universal rulebook to consult when someone’s creativity needs to be stamped out - remove the money and the fame and you have artists no longer making what we call art.
Without all the noise. Without all the glamour and the recognition and the freedom to walk down the street using a $4,000 Coach Umbrella to block the sun, can we finally get to the bottom of what creativity is there for in the first place? Not money. Not recognition. But simply expression.
Sure, making money with art is great. It’s amazing. It should happen more often (I wish it did in my case). But that’s not how we should be encouraging the artist.
With the onset of the Corona Virus in New York City, the streets have been cleared of all the bullshit. There’s no one outside trying to impress someone else with their dumbass umbrella. The stores are all closed. Life goes on.
New York, a city of dreamers, have all been told to go back to dreaming. Stop wasting time catching up with yourself. Selling yourself. Impressing yourself upon others. Just go home.
Go home. Make art.
Seeing the city empty like this makes me think of all the work being done behind closed doors , or open windows, or rickety fire escapes. New York is a city that breathes and shits creativity on a daily basis. With everyone at home I can’t imagine how much magic is being cultivated like fungus in a jar. But then I go back on my bullshit and I remember - I’m not home by choice. How the fuck can I be creative now?
I’d argue the position we’re in, forced into submission by the ineptitude of the leaders we’ve elected, is the perfect time to create. It’s the perfect time to remember where art comes from in the first place. A chance for us to create something for the fucking sake of it. Not because we can make money off it or because people will know us when they see us walking down the street with our $400 umbrella, but because we need it.
We need art, and art needs us.
We should be fucking pissed right now. Fuck this administration. They’ve repeatedly failed at every single action they’ve ever taken and their inaction has been even worse.
We should be fucking depressed right now. Fuck reality. All of this self promotion, self idolizing, grandiose virtual lives that run on jealousy and competition - it’s all bullshit. You’ve wasted so many years.
We should be fucking insane right now. Fuck free speech. We don’t have to listen to you because you’re the loudest. No one trusts anyone anymore. I can’t send a link without someone else claiming the talking head is a liar. How does anyone navigate a world like this?
We should be alone right now.
Yes, human connection is important. There is no point in life if you can’t share the experience. But since the dawn of the internet, we’ve completely lost track of ourselves. There’s no understanding of our own bodies— how our brain thinks, how our back aches, how our legs shake. We get instant answers, sure. We can even get someone else to tell us what they think is wrong, but there’s nothing better than stopping and actually taking the time to listen to your body. Feel it move around. Navigate which areas are stiff and which aren’t. Massage it out. Stretch. Do all of this, and then do it all again with your mind. Or hell, with your heart. Whatever you’re doing just slow down and listen.
Your body doesn’t care about your linkedIn profile. Your heart doesn’t give a shit about how many matches you’ve made on Tinder. Your personality is a reflection of the stress you ingest - the bullshit you choose to deal with on a daily basis.
Corona Virus has thrown us a gigantic curve ball. It’s dumped a wide fucking load down on us and it’s not helping that our leader is a moron with zero credibility or accountability. But it’s also done us a favor - one we can all sorely use. It stopped time.
If you were in a bad place in your life, stay home. Take a breath.
Between jobs? Relationships? Suicide cults? Stay home. Take a breath.
Not sure if you should make that big decision? Afraid of signing up for online classes? Worried your rash won’t go away for another three months? Stay home. Take a breath.
And make art.
