Complaining about 2020 is fast becoming a cliche as the annual reflection upon the year past is upon us all. I’ve complained myself, mostly about inconveniences that have interrupted my frankly spoiled life, dining out during COVID, when it was available , was an anxiety producing event-food tastes less a treat when your hands smell of 70% alcohol sanitizer (I did however recently have one enchanting (and frigid ) meal in Chicago, in a twinkling tent fortified with plenty of hooch to fend off nature’s bluster).
But truly, little to complain about, I am fortunate in so many ways in that the vicissitudes of this virus have had little impact. That is until recently when my prince came down with COVID ( I somehow continue to test negative and symptom free); he has at last recovered, rather quickly and without any long-term effects. For this we consider ourselves supremely lucky and have reconnected our commitment to the here and the now; a forced embrace of the realty that our lives are not our own, simply lent, a gift of Being, undeserved and ruthlessly impermanent .
For an artist who spends a great deal of time exploring the theme of memento mori that should be obvious…but it isn’t. For now we are keenly aware of this tenuous situation we call our life, and while the scare is close to hand, I am deeply appreciative. I will slip into complacency all too soon, but for now, holding those I love close.
In so many ways 2020 was quite a wonderful year, my CV (https://boondocksbabylon.com/cv/)is rather bulging with the exhibitions I’ve participated in- even rejecting a few ; close to a dozen high quality curated exhibitions , a record for me…seems it takes a plague to have my work considered.
I am self contained as an artist, my love of hermits such as St.Anthony of the Desert is not by chance. To be untroubled by social pressure, gallery openings, feigned social conviviality, competitive posturing and the fine art of humble bragging, to be relieved of all this is an immense liberation for my soul . I feel myself breathing with ease and can only hope that when we do return to whatever we call normal, that I am able to remain true to this core of my identity. That I will possess the fortitude to resist the siren’s call of doubt, competitive insecurity and the fear-of-missing-out.
We are moving forward with our long term plan to move to Chicago, having spent our summer there, we are now more than ever eager to leave LA for green summers, wet springs, blustery winters and russet autumns. That and a serious art museum or two. Our game plan is to be resettled in a few years, we are about to place our little hermitage on the market, a poignant first step in what we hope will be a halcyon final chapter.
Our sweethearted pugdog Viola delights us no end, we have one another, reasonably good health (for the moment), time (for the moment) to pursue our talents and the means to explore our interests.
So in the end, 2020 wasn’t so horribilus after all.
One thought on “2020 Annus horribilus…or was it?”
Wonderful reflections and delicious art as always! Merry Christmas!!❤️