Quarantine quickly closed all the spaces I usually go to engage with art; namely my choir and SLAM poetry team. I had little desire to play music, paint, or write, knowing that my creations wouldn’t reach anyone else. I stayed engaged with art by manufacturing an artistic community– namely an Instagram account where my partner and I would take turns posting chord progressions and our own interpretations of them. The thought that others were enjoying or at least hearing the songs I wrote was inspiration enough. I realize now that community is central to my engagement with the arts; I thrive on feedback, and I enjoy music more when I feel some connection with the artist, or when somebody enthusiastically introduces me to it. This summer I struggled to find this kind of artistic dialogue, though I did find some creative ways to keep in touch.
I’m not sure I feel power from objects in the way Leslie Laskey does. Although watching 47 Views has certainly changed the way I look at rusty hinges, I’m usually more inspired by situations, and the relationship between things or people, than by things themselves. One very notable exception is the forest. When I am surrounded by trees, I feel that they are immensely powerful. Trees just amaze me. They are so old, and so deeply entangled with everything around them! They make oxygen and lovely rustling sounds! I feel tremendous creative energy in the woods.
When I started paying attention to the sounds around me, I was surprised by how gentle most of the soundscapes were. The first time I noticed this, I was in the kitchen at the restaurant where I work. I generally considered this to be a chaotic place full of loud, sudden noises. But when I really listened, I mostly heard the fan gently whirring and oil sizzling softly. Sharp actions like a knife on a cutting board, when I closed my eyes, actually made a satisfying and muted sound. I started to notice how a distant fuzz dominates every soundscape– often traffic, wind, or fans. Against this backdrop, louder noises sound gentler to me– like how a tiger would seem less dangerous if it sat on a fluffy blanket. Above all, this exercise made me notice how noisy my thoughts are. I vividly hear music and speech in my mind at all times, the ‘sound’ of which is much more chaotic than any actual sounds I hear. The sound of the kitchen at my work is actually very pleasant– my own stress makes it seem much louder.
The idea of stealing free time spoke to my inability to be productive during quarantine. I always thought, well, there’s plenty of time for that later. When my free time is scarce, I feel the need to make the most of it. Finally, a chance to call that friend, or listen to that album, or lay down for a moment to think! With all the events of a busy day stewing in my brain, a period of rest can brew the most delicious ideas.
I loved Laskey’s Gertrude Stein Memorial Viewing Platform. He says that sometimes nature is “too much to take in,” and I couldn’t agree more. My mum loves to spend time in the forest and point out every beautiful reflection and colour, which I find really overwhelming. One leaf is beautiful enough to occupy my eye; to fully appreciate hundreds of trees is quite daunting. Laskey’s artwork made me understand why I sometimes prefer music with only one or two instruments to the complexity of a full orchestra, which I’m still learning to make sense of. The Viewing Platform gave me permission turn away from all the light and colour of the forest, to focus on just a few shadows if I choose; to be immersed in but not swallowed by all its beauty.