The Last Word On Nothing

On Saturday, I met up with two friends and made art.

Now, in this era, “met up with” means “on Zoom.” But “made art” means “made art.” And it’s art that wouldn’t have happened without the pandemic.

The two friends are Joanna and Harshita, two of my oldest friends. We’ve known each other since we were 11 and 12 years old, and after getting various degrees in other places, we’re all back and living within a few miles of the houses where we grew up. Over the last few years, while I’ve been discovering my artistic side, Joanna and Harshita have been around for it. Joanna and I meet up sometimes for a bit of plein air drawing, and Harshita and I have taken classes together with a local artist.

In early April, Joanna suggested the three of us get together (on Zoom) and do some art. This was early on, when we thought this isolation was maybe just going to be a few weeks or, when I was feeling pessimistic, until early summer. Joanna works in the museum field and has led a lot of arts and crafts, so she volunteered to find us an activity. Remember back in spring, when everyone was sharing ways to amuse yourself when you’re stuck at home? A museum educator at the National Gallery in London filmed a video with instructions on a collage activity inside her home.

So the three of us watched the video, then got on Zoom and collaged. It connected us at a time when connection was tough and, at the end of it, I had something ridiculous and fun: a depiction of the three of us as flowers, each wearing a mask (made of a scrap of cloth left over from my own mask-making), with sequins glued all over the background, because sequins make everything better.

And then we kept going. Both the pandemic and the art kept going. I’m filling the bit of wall next to my front door with goofy new pieces. I never hung up my art before; it never seemed good enough. But now it seems like just what I want to look at. Every few weeks or a month or so, one of the three of us declares that we should do art together, and we do.

My version of the pandemic is relatively easy. I haven’t been sick, and no one close to me has died. I have my full-time job and am able to almost completely avoid being breathed on by other people. But that doesn’t mean my version of the pandemic is particularly nice. There’s the not getting to hug my friends, the fact that my most beloved activity (singing) is uniquely dangerous, and that whole thing where I now work and live in the same 650 square feet. And don’t forget the racism, the impending election, and the hundreds of thousands of deaths.

So an occasional Saturday afternoon get-together with two of my oldest friends, to hang out on screens and do something with our hands—that’s a very good thing.

Sometimes I wonder how I’m going to remember 2020. Someday we’re going to come out of this, and what will those memories feel like? I imagine it feeling like one big mush of worry and Netflix inside my apartment. And maybe then I’ll look at my pandemic art wall and remember.

Art: Helen Fields