I always thought that being on one’s own would be a positive thing for an art practice. Within the existential dread and uncertainty of a pandemic, I was quite intrigued by a period of time where I didn’t have to say ‘no’ to my friends when they asked me to spend time with them because I had to prioritise my art. The plan was to work, uninterrupted, for long periods of time.
I completed 3 books in 2020, back to back. I felt more productive than I had in the past. And, it wasn’t just the quantity, but the quality – Rosie the Rhinoceros is some of my proudest work to date. But, in the flurry of productivity and focus, something else gave way – the abililty to invent.
Invention needs novelty and novelty came from those ‘annoying’ social obligations I had so much difficulty and guilt turning down. It’s not like I had ‘no ideas’ (I believe creative block doesn’t exist), it’s just that the ideas were different. The ideas emerged from my internal world, not the external one. And, because of this, I found myself much less sure of their validity or relevance to others. Because of this, I had less motivation to explore them fully, or talk about them with others (even over video or phone calls).
But, at the time of writing this, I’m acclimatising to a new normal and I’m beginning, again, to see things in a new way. Now that I can go to the beach again, I’m reminded of the way small dogs and children challenge the waves. That sparks curiosity in me about concepts of hierarchy, power, and our relationship with the natural world. In transit between interstate destinations, it’s curious to notice the way humans cue for coffee or an electrical outlet – we’ve never looked more reliant on energy in all its whizzing forms.
During extended lockdowns, social media became my window into the ‘external’ world but, driven by algorithms and learned behavioural patterns about how we interact online, it too lacks the serendipity of everyday. Ironically, the digital world lacks the depth and resolution of real life, in so many ways.
When the world was open, I craved solitude. When it closed, I missed the novelty of happenstance. So now, as ‘re-entry’ sharpens it’s focus, I know that I need both. I know that it’s quite literally up to me, now a little more sensitive to the benefits of novelty and solitude, to design my time to optimise for both – to balance how much and when of each is best for the art I want to make.