Day 3 (May 19, 2020)
When Eiko suggested I resume this drawing amidst the pandemic she repeated over and over "this is up to you" "your health comes first" "you don't have to exhaust yourself." I think she emphasized these points because this work had once been an exercise in tiring myself. It was durational - I always drew for at least an hour at a time, often two to four. I forced myself into an extended meditative state, let my hand cramp up, and let my hip bones bruise on a hard floor. But while I am inside the tragedy I am trying to portray, I believe (and Eiko clearly does too) that I have to take a different approach.
So, I have been trying to draw the same way I take runs. I only do so when I feel like it, when the urge strikes me strong enough that the action won't drain me. I attempt to move away from "shoulds" and more towards wants and needs. I was curious what would happen with this project if I made no schedule or timeline, and just made sure I had the materials available to draw. Besides, if we don't know how long this state of being will last, how could I plan?
Today, I am in New Haven, Connecticut. I have been living in my parents' basement for just over a week. I left Brooklyn in search of trees and running without a mask and a bicycle. I feel guilt about leaving and not being sure when I will return, and I can feel the unfairness in my new access to space. I have hesitated in drawing Centipede again because I wonder where my value is in this new perspective from this new place. But today, the desire emerged.
I lay down to draw this morning after a few days of feeling utterly disconnected. It is easier to forget about the pandemic here. It is easier to forget about the pain and suffering of people when you see fewer people. And it is so much easier to forget about the dangers of the "outside" when your "inside" has expanded. In some ways this has been a relief. But my life before COVID now feels more like an abstraction than ever—my work is contained on a screen, my friends have turned into voices on the phone, it's hard to remember what the subway felt like, or joyful crowds, or live performance. I feel far away and floaty, untethered.
Today, I wanted to connect and remember and imagine the people who were now far, or far less visible to me. I wanted to feel close to unknown people whose suffering gets obscured by graphs and charts and especially by our boredom with quarantine and itching to move again. Today I wanted to see what this new space offered me, and offer it back. I filmed with no plan. I broke my own rules and played music—John Prine. I drew a person, and another. I let myself get bored, and kept drawing anyway. I let myself get bored, and danced in my driveway. I let the wind decide the view of the video—it chose sky and trees.