Like the rest of the country, I have been unsettled and on edge. About a week ago, I swore off the media. I haven’t cancelled subscriptions (but am happy for all the WaPo readers who did), I’m just not partaking. The newspaper is going unread, links texted by friends are being ignored, the radio is all but silenced. I am consuming about 10% of what I would normally be consuming.
And in that void, I have found new-old passions and a whole mountain of inspiration. I sat and read Lauren Groff’s profile of Florence Welch, neither of which I follow religiously, both whom I admire deeply. I sat and read the piece, forgetting about everything except the extraordinary talent being profiled, and the extraordinary talent doing the profiling. I was utterly absorbed into Welch’s life and craft—the “glories and rages of being a female artist today.”
The photos by Luis Alberto Rodriguez were gorgeous, and I YouTube’d the videos referenced as I was reading. It was a beautiful wormhole of passion, creativity, and transcendence that has inspired me to crank Shake It Out and Dog Days Are Over, tearing up at the uyir—life breath—in her voice.
The next night, I listened to The Stone Roses, a favorite early 90s band, a softer sound of my favorite indie era, which made me nostalgic, and again transported me far, far away from today’s reality.
As with traditional media, I’ve ditched podcasts. Except Heavyweight. Oh my bright belief in humanity! Jonathan Goldstein is the most endearing host. Hilarious, curious, compassionate, a ridiculously brilliant storyteller who nails the timing and tone every time and whose bons mots are leave no prisoners. And the stories–different people struggling to reconcile past relationships or missed opportunities, wondering what might have been, or what happened to—is such a beautiful study of what it is to be human, making me laugh, cry, sigh and stop what I’m doing so I can be sure to not miss a thing. It’s been a balm to my soul.
In this time, I also picked up a book that’s been on my shelf since I bought it at a used bookstore in Denver in January. It’s called Etta, Otto, Russell & James, and yet again, it’s bringing me to a place where I am fully immersed, fully believing, just wanting to be with these characters, on their journey across Canada. It was written by Canadian Emma Hooper, her first novel, and for some reason, it reminds me of the kinds of books I used to read when I was younger. Like a book that would have been published in the 80s—quirkier, more carefree, not so much the semi-autobiographical storylines of today that, sure, are captivating but not quite so magical.
There has been exceptional visual art, too. Andrew and I were lucky to pop into the city for 24 hours for a party and we checked out three galleries before we took the train home. Lorna Simpson, Kara Walker & Jake Longstreth. World-class talents, creating larger-than-life, provocative work (maybe Jake isn’t the same caliber as Kara and Lorna, but how about that last name?!), so staggering in their scale, concept, and skill. And those galleries—just free to pop into and be surrounded by the work. Such good fortune.
Not everything has been heady. I’ve also been loving watching Gravity Falls & Abbott Elementary with Parker. The lightness and humor are just as essential, if not more so right now.
So no matter what happens today and in the weeks to come, I will search for and find solace in art. Art always saves us.
