Dear friends,
There's a LOT going on right now, holy moly.
(Here is a link to a short video of Dr. Amy Acton, director of Ohio's Department of Health, giving a mini-lecture on the pandemic on Sunday, March 15:
https://youtu.be/uloe-oC3z2U )
So much change to our normal lives, so much anxiety about what is coming, so much disruption to the most mundane of tasks (getting groceries, paying the utility bills, getting a haircut). It's a lot to deal with, and sometimes too much. I am still figuring out how to do this, even though I've pretty much been self-isolating for two years already, thanks to chronic illness!
My goal for the next couple days is to a) rest a lot (I am currently getting over a cold) (or at least I think that's what it is, but WHO KNOWS because there are no tests available), and b) transition from being obsessed with FB & Twitter to doing things that will make me feel less stressed and anxious, and that will bring more peace and joy. I made a whole list of possibilities! And they're all things I'm looking forward to doing.
One of them is writing--in my journal, in my notebook, or on my computer, using the mode that suits me at whatever moment I have the energy to write. I have seen several historians urge people to keep a diary of some sort, a record of what's happening and what you're feeling as we make our way through this unprecedented time. (The title of this post is a revised reference to a novel by Daniel Defoe, a
fictionalized version published in the 1720s of one person's experience of the bubonic plague in London in 1665.)
I think, for generations to come, people are going to be interested in learning what it was like to go through this global event. If you're thinking, "I'm recording this for posterity, I'd better write about every single thing that happened today," let me tell you: that's not feasible! Especially with situations changing hour by hour.
So a format that limits or focuses what we do can be helpful. I am using a couple options outlined by Lynda Barry in her book
Syllabus. The book provides materials from when she taught classes at the University of Wisconsin--her syllabus, but also class policies, homework assignments, classroom activities, all sorts of things. It's a really fabulous book!
One of her assignments for students is that they keep a diary--writing
by hand about each day in a simple composition book. She offers two formats; I call the first one the "list" format. It looks like this:
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From p. 63, the "list" diary format: what you did, what you saw,
something you heard, and a sketch of something from your day. |
The idea here is to make a couple of lists (what you did, what you saw), write down a couple phrases you overheard, and add a drawing. Don't spend a lot of time on any of it, including the drawing. These are just sketches from your day, verbal and pictorial.
The second format is what I think of as the "X" format; it looks like this:
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From p. 132: The "X" format includes the same information,
but in a different layout. |
There's the same basic information, and drawing, but in a format that lets you use the page a little differently.
One excellent aspect of using these formats is that they're quick, focused, and limited. When I think about doing one of these pages, I don't feel preemptively exhausted.
One last note: I can't draw worth a DANG, never have been able to, except maybe for that time when I was a preteen and taught myself to draw horse heads because I was obsessed with horses and wanted them to adorn everything I owned. I am pretty much limited to stick figures, and always embarrassed by my efforts to go beyond that. (Especially because I have two VERY TALENTED artists for sisters, and my brother makes amazing technical drawings. Ahem.)
However, Barry's book has given me a way to branch out from stick figures. She teaches her students to make figures in the style of Ivan Brunetti, who describes using shapes for the body parts. They're still simple, but look identifiable as people, too.
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From p. 69, Brunetti's formula: a circle head, rectangle body,
simple features, and simple limbs. Voila! |
Side note about
Syllabus: at the heart of this book is Barry's overarching project of including students in the process of exploring profound questions about how ideas travel from person to person, how "the natural human instinct for storytelling [becomes] a means of transferring something from one person to another" (9). What is that something? Why does it seem to have a life of its own?
I also appreciate her thoughts on what happens when we abandon drawing as something we're "bad at," fairly early in life:
"Daily practice with images both written and drawn is rare once we have lost our baby teeth and begin to think of ourselves as good at some things and bad at other things. It's not that this isn't true, but the side effects are profound once we abandon a certain activity like drawing because we are bad at it. A certain state of mind ... is also lost. A certain capacity of the mind is shuttered and for most people, it stays that way for life. It is a bad trade." (115)
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From p. 115, the passage quoted above in Barry's handwriting,
with illustrations. |
Reading through this book and thinking about my colleagues, I miss our students very much. I am grateful to be on leave still, as the additional stress of transferring classes to online modes would really be bad for my health right now. But I miss the opportunity to explore meaningful questions with a group of people who want to learn. It strikes me that this is a sacred exercise as we move through this perplexing, frightening, challenging time.
Stay safe, stay home, and stay well. Sending my love to all!
Karen
