Among other things, one of the phenomena of the past weeks that seems to be universal is how hard it is to keep track of time, a fact that is hitting close to home. Even though both my husband and I have kept to our regular schedules (there’s been no break in his work routine so, for the most part, my days also appear unchanged), I still find my sense of time is warped.

For the past several weeks I’ve been working on a piece for an upcoming exhibit entitled “Sheltering in Place”. While I was figuring out how to construct the little house I will be including, I began with this template. As often happens, things change. As you can see below, rather than all being connected, the sides and roof of the house were created separately and will be sewn together in the next step.

Counterintuitively, with no out-of-the-house activities, no outside meetings, no visits to exhibitions or “art dates” with friends…heck, no activities at all beyond walking the dog and going to the grocery store and post office, the weeks seem to fly by. And yet, when I think back to something only a week past, it seems like months ago. This must be partially due to the general lack of variety between days, and I’m sure the unrelenting quick-fire news cycle also contributes. But whatever the cause, it’s been disorienting.

Color is always a major consideration for any piece, but I wanted to be sure that the dye pattern was obvious, yet not overpowering. This light blue with tones of rust was perfect.

Listening to podcasts while stitching has been my touchstone with the outside world and a means for gaining perspective. I’m listing a few below that have been particularly helpful.

Back in March, Gretchen Rubin of Happier recommended keeping a coronavirus journal — not necessarily a written diary, but some way of marking this unusual time. What I find most helpful about her suggestion is it is malleable enough to accommodate whatever need each of us feels during this time. When we emerge on the other side, as we will, the details that feel so important and pervasive right now will be easily forgotten. I’d rather not forget.

Aside from strict size specifications, the curator’s directive was only that each piece reflect “our individual experiences during this dramatic time in our collective history”. Obviously, our isolation with Quinn is my everyday story.  My goal for the piece is to show that despite our isolation, we remain very much connected to family and friends elsewhere. I debated about including the heart, wondering if it would be a little too sweet, but ultimately decided it needs to be there as a symbol of the root of our connection. I’m not sure if I will sew lines or have some sort of connective cords coming out from the heart, wrapping around the sides to various points on the maps.

For one artist’s solution, check out Elizabeth Le Serviget’s approach to remembering each day. It’s clever without being all-consuming. And, if you have time while on the Highland Center for the Arts website, take a few moments to treat yourself to exploring the work of all the artists who have submitted to “The Show Must Go On-Line”, a virtual gallery where artists show work and briefly discuss how their practice has been affected in the past months. This is but another example of how art entities are resourcefully maintaining engagement despite being shuttered.

Our family and friends are both near and far flung. I have filled in each state where loved one(s) reside and have been sheltering in place themselves.

If you’re struggling with concentration or with work in general, you aren’t alone.  Artists Louise Fletcher and Alice Sheridan address their COVID-19 experiences, their changes in working habits, sense of malaise, and general frustration in Episode #69 “Frayed nerves, broken glass, and really…what’s the point?” on their podcast Art Juice. Their down-to-earth manner leaves one feeling less adrift and more hopeful.

It’s hard to tell from these photos, but each of these pieces (sides of the house) will wrap around a supportive layer, and then be sewn together into a 3-D house shape. The photo below should give you a better idea of what I mean.

Perhaps my favorite listen so far has been “Jenny Odell on nature, art and burnout in quarantine” on The Ezra Klein Show. She talks about living in the world right now, the role of art in this moment, why we undervalue the most important work in our society (so key!), where to find beauty right now, the tensions of productivity, and the melting of time. So much to absorb and so worth it…fascinating and important on all those many levels. (Thanks Stu)

We have a nephew who is in Norway and friends in London. This back piece refers to the fact that the pandemic knows no borders. I think that is the thought that has most made me stop to catch my breath…there isn’t a human on earth who hasn’t been affected.

And for anyone who is a fan of El Anatsui’s work, especially fiber artists, The Lonely Palette’s re-release of Episode 15: El Anatsui’s “Black River” is superb. Host Tamar Avishai’s description of the unique qualities of working with textiles is spot-on, giving the medium the articulate and sensitive recognition that is all too often lacking. One can’t help but think about the inherent, labor and time-intensive nature of many textile processes and how becoming lost in the flow of the making is yet another means of warping time.

Finally, it seemed just the right moment to reread one of my favorites: May Sarton’s 1973 Journal of a Solitude. I tried to absorb it in a slow and measured way, but each entry was so insightful that it was like eating popcorn — no stopping. Aside from the obvious link with our current experience of isolation, it also resonates for its quiet observations that shine a light on the comfort to be found in the most ordinary of life’s occurrences (e.g. the changing seasons, light falling just so on flowers from the garden, a pet’s morning greeting), the things that act like glue, holding both good times and bad together.

Lynn ©2020 Elizabeth Fram, Graphite, ink, and colored pencil on paper, 12 x 9 inches.    Meanwhile, my selfie project continues… this time with Lynn who is an avid birder. Since she was dressed all in beige in her photo, it seemed a good time to try out a new, tan-toned paper. But I wasn’t thinking and forgot that the sheet was just a bit too big for my scanner bed – which is why the image appears slightly cropped here. I did take a shot of the complete image, but for some reason it didn’t record the tan of the paper as well as in the scanned image. I thought seeing the tan ground was more important here than the tiny bit of the drawing that ended up being cropped.

It’s human nature to want to find ways to mark the passage of time and certain points within it, to remember, to be able to look back and make sense of a confusing and uncertain period. I wonder how you are choosing to do so, and how your choice is affecting your experience right now. There will be much wealth in the art that emerges in the months and years ahead. My hope is that it will lead us toward a better understanding of how, going forward, the pandemic has changed not just the world around us, but the core of ourselves.