I started my Corona Kimono a year ago today. That first entry had sheep in it and the words “low hum of menace“.
It’s a different world today. Even with how hopeful things are now, I also feel a little ragged. Like the year has worn me down a bit. I hadn’t really thought of it this way until I looked at that first entry, which actually looks more composed, more peaceful compared to the one I did today.
I don’t think I can bring up the exact feeling of fear I had back then, but I can see the relief at having a place to express myself in that first drawing.
As an artist, the Corona Kimono became the thing that I was able to do during the pandemic.
What I really wanted to do was to help in some way. This was more a selfish desire than an altruistic one. “Doing” always makes me feel better than not doing.
Especially during difficult times.
Besides making masks, and being there for the people in my life, and trying to put positive things out into the world on my blog there was little I could do.
Creating my Corona Kimono has helped give my life as an artist meaning during this time.
Looking back at all the entries, I clearly see that some are rougher, more raw than others. I look at some and wish I could erase them, do them over.
But then if my Corona Kimono is truly a journal I guess that’s to be expected.
My last few entries have sometimes come a month apart. But that too reflects that the urgency has diminished.
This morning a bunch of phrases that arose from the pandemic and have become a familiar part of our vocabulary flashed across my YouTube channel. I quickly wrote them down thinking they might become a part of my Corona Kimono.
I’m not sure if I wrote them down because I thought I’d forget them, or if it’s because they are so much a part of life, I no longer think of them as being something other than a part of everyday life.
I guess that’s a good reason to include them.
Only recently have I come to understand how energy-depleting were those early days of being on “high alert” about such previously simple things as buying groceries or picking up the mail or talking to neighbors or walking the dog. Trying to remember everything we were suddenly supposed to be doing: wearing masks, wiping surfaces, keeping distance, constantly washing hands and everything else. I feel like I am just beginning to return to my usual energy and some degree of optimism. I completely understand the chronology and timing of your kimono; it’s almost like time lapse photography.
That’s really interesting Jill. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but there is this slowing down of the intensity that is captured in the momentum of my entries. Thanks for pointing it out. Now it makes more sense to me.
What an amazing piece of art capturing history. This should be in a museum.
🙂
Maria,
Your blog and creations have been grounding during this time and have brought me so much peace and happiness. When I’m feeling a little ehhhh I always remind myself to check in to see what you are up to. Your updates always make make me smile.
I have shared you blog with my friends, hoping to brighten their day as well.
I consider myself a genuinely happy person who is very optimistic. Sometimes everyone needs a lift. I wanted to thank you!
Always,
Colleen
Colleen, I can’t tell you how much it means to read this. The amazing part is that it does the same for me. I’m am grateful for your being there. Thank you for sharing my blog and for letting me know.
And Barb is right, and I think I’ve said it before: This piece should be in a museum, or part of a curated exhibit. It is the very essence of art: an embodiment and a reflection of our times and emotions.
Thank you Jill