Yoga? In this economy?

In times of uncertainty we often look for ways to channel our energy into something positive, to create some level of calm amidst the chaos, and recently self care seems to have taken a front seat.

Lately I’ve been scrolling through lots of How To’s on making the most of lockdown. Of course they usually include things like cutting your own hair (slay queen!!); quick and easy baking recipes, because bananas are apparently really important now; caring for indoor plants; and tips on how to run a 10K in a matter of weeks.

In reality I can barely keep up with the news notifications on my phone, let alone align my chakras and take care of a Monstera. Self care is great when your anxiety isn’t through the roof but right now we’re literally in the middle of a crisis.

Let’s be real for a second, lockdown is a hot mess. It’s not chill vibes at Coachella, it’s day 10 at Fyre Festival. It’s mundane yet terrifying, laborious yet relaxed, it’s everything and nothing all at once.

Art has been the thing that’s helped me to feel more mindful and closer to nature over the past few months and as a result I’ve been mulling over the idea of art as self care. What might that be? I’m so glad you asked! When I refer to art, I am referring to it as an umbrella term, consisting of anything from music to film to literature and how important it is for our wellbeing.

When it comes to wellness, I can sit here and talk to you about face masks and chia seeds (SO good, right??), but this isn’t a How To, think of this as more of a literary purge. No formal structure, just pure unfiltered chaos.

Tangible art is no more. Museums and galleries are closed and online viewing rooms are increasing by the day. This truly is art in the age of the internet. We’ve traded bright airy windows for browser windows (lol even writing that sentence feels weird), and oil on canvas for digital replicas.

For me virtual exhibitions seem awkward and lifeless in comparison to the real thing. You’re disconnected from the art and that makes it so much harder to enjoy any of it. It’s like watching a grainy bootleg copy of your favourite film.

I like the acoustics of art museums, the seemingly infinite height of neoclassical pillars, the procession of visitors. I like hearing the sound of my shoes against the shiny floors and eavesdropping (sorry) as people describe the art that they see in front of them. It’s a whole experience that can’t really be recreated online.

These days my time is dedicated to reading, watching angsty indie films, and somehow being late for zoom calls. On warmer evenings I ride my bike through quiet streets, wondering when Lorde’s new album is gonna drop, and for a moment it feels like everything is normal. On rainy days I shuffle around the house in slippers listening to Beach House, thinking back to a time when crowded rooftop bars were the norm.

I reminisce about going out, doing my make up in my room. Running out of the house with keys in one hand, phone in the other. Remember jeans? Remember mascara?? Remember Friday nights??? The prospect of wearing a bra now seems laughable. But hey, at least I’m not spending any money on Ubers #namaste.

Art appears to be the only redeeming factor. Books that are usually busy gathering dust are being picked up and read, sort of. My attention span has taken a leave of absence, so right now it’s just easier to read essays. I’m spending more time listening to music and looking at photography, most recently, Arturo Torres, his stuff is playful and dreamy. The rest of my time is spent writing.

Writing is like moulding clay (in this analogy imagine you’re in a beginners pottery class), you think you’re getting pretty good at it then you look over at the person next to you and you’re like shit, that looks fucking good. Reading during lockdown has made me more aware of my own writing. I don’t know whether that’s good or bad, but it has prompted me to reflect and reexamine the way that I write. Turns out stringing words together is a whole process. Lockdown has allowed me to be creative in new ways, which is liberating.

I once read that comparison is an act of violence against the self, and I guess if there’s one takeaway from all this, maybe it’s that. You don’t have to force yourself to be productive right now, or finally finish a project you’ve been putting off, just because somebody else has. You don’t have to do anything at all. Self care is idiosyncratic, what works for Gwyneth Paltrow doesn’t work for all of us, believe me, and that’s okay. Art provides a healthy substitute for my normal routine and if you find that it helps you too, amazing. But if it doesn’t, it’s really not the end of the world. What’s important is to figure out what works for you. Sleep! Eat your vegetables! Drink water! Cry! It doesn't matter! Self care!!

PSA:

This post was written before the protests began in honour of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and the countless other black lives that have been tragically lost due to racism and police brutality. It feels like the world is on fire and personally I find it difficult to write about what’s happening right now. So I encourage readers to sign petitions, donate and read up. Rather than simply saying that things need to change, please check out these links.