Those who bought tickets to my TEDx show and had to have them returned (due to the performance going digital) got money back plus gifts delivered to their door!
I think this year’s theme “Misfits” might actually be about being kind people and doing something nice in unpleasant times when the world feels divided.
Bravo to the producers!
“Mummy, will you perform in a museum? “
“It was meant to be in the Museum of Belgium, but NOW it will be in a theatre.”
“How many people are going to clap?”
“There will be millions watching online, they might smile not clap, but only a few in the theatre, to keep everyone safe.”
“How many chairs are there?”
“250 tickets were sold then returned. Now only tech crew will be watching in the theatre. Everyone else in the world can watch on their screens.”
“So…. the theatre is 250 bigger than us!” (She throws her arms wide.)
Viktoryia Sinkovec asked if I would be her first ever guest on a new podcast about the arts here in Europe. We had an actual tea party and a good quality talk about my upcoming live art performance of DELPHI for TEDx. I did some portraits of her while we laughed.
T: It’s art, and it’s tea, and it’s an arty party. And this is October 2020. This is our first episode today. I would like to introduce Viktoryia Sinkovec. Welcome, welcome, welcome.
V: Thank you.
T: Viktoryia is a Belarussian in Belgium, a multinational mother, lawyer, yogini, journalist, and art lover. Or, just lover?
V: A lover. Always a lover.
T: A lover not a fighter.
V: Tamar Levi, she is an artist, a painter, a children’s book author, based in Brussels, and learning French.
T: That’s right! Trying.
V: Trying. She grew up in Alaska, educated in UK, and she accidentally fell in love with a Greek man who brought her to Europe.
T: The hairiest Greek man I could find!
V: (laughter)
T: Thank you so much for having me. I’m so excited that we were able to find the day we could do this, in advance of this big event next week.
V: Yeah, what is this big event that you’re talking about?
T: So, I was invited to do a performance for a TEDx conference which means it is organized by ULB, a university here in Brussels.
V: Yeah.
T: And, they will be having the normal TEDtalk speakers, but they invited me to do something a bit different: which is a live art performance.
V: How are people chosen for this event? Are they really special? What makes you so special?
T: I’ve been questioning this myself. What am I doing here? And why? I was trying yesterday to come up with a percentage for this. (Tea cups clattering.) Is it 70% who you know and 30% how good your work is?
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: Or is it 70% how good your work is and 30% who you know? I don’t know what the percentage is on this, but I think a lot of it is about who is in your community.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: And how you engage with your community over time and if you’re bringing quality work to your community space regularly you get known for doing a good job.
V: Yeah.
T: But you also have to be extroverted enough that people know they can reach out to you, find you, and introduce you to do things. So there is a weird mix of being a quality creator, but also stepping outside of your studio enough that you can create the relationships that move you into spaces that can share your work. It’s very, very tricky to take the hat off of the isolated artist, and put the hat on of “I’m going out into the world again.”
V: Especially now, in the Covid times.
T: Yes, oh my goodness.
V: There are a lot of restrictions now. So how will it look like?
T: It was originally going to be in a conference space, at Flagey, in the centre of Brussels. And then, so many people were interested, that they were expanding the event, and moving my artwork which was going to be on the walls and entering into a new space which was the Museum of Belgium.
V: Oh wow.
T: So it was going to be in a huge museum, which is very prestigious, and I was very excited to present my art on the walls of a museum! However, Covid hit and this pandemic happened, and they had to limit the ticket numbers. So they were no longer able to present it in the museum space.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: and now they are doing it in what I think what used to be a Belgian beer factory, maybe? Or some sort of old manufacturing building, that’s called La Maison du Bois.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: It’s near the university. It’s still a huge space, but it has fewer (guest) numbers and they are more spread out. And that’s how they’ve accommodated the pandemic.
V: It sounds quite interesting. If it’s an old place, it’s authentic, for an artist lover.
T: I was expecting it to be a chateau because it’s called La Maison… and I entered and I thought, oh! This looks like a factory that has rebranded as a chateau!
V: (laughing) And who will perform? You and someone else? Or is it just you?
T: I will be presenting a series of artwork on the wall of the event. AND I will be performing for the audience with a flautist–
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: — who is an award winning flute player named Kalliopi Bolovinou and it’s our first time collaborating together. So we had less than 10 days… My previous collaborator is based in London. His name is Doctor Eugene Feygelson, and he played the violin in our last performance. But, being based in London, he couldn’t commute to Belgium, as easily as we used to. The world has gotten smaller.
V: Yeah. Doors are closing.
T: Yeah. So, people we are engaging with, need to be our neighbours.
V: So, what’s going to be your story? What will you tell us?
T: This is the trailer for a graphic novel, that I’ve illustrated all in one line. The name of the book is DELPHI. It’s about a little girl whose mother passes away and she goes to look for her myths and legends in every culture around the world. This book almost wrote itself because every culture has a story about looking for someone you love who is not here. And, it was very easy going into the British library and finding folklore after folklore that told the same story about missing someone you love and going to look for them and trying to bring them back. However, I wrote this story along the arch of traditional grief. She goes through anger and denial, and eventually through a catharsis.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: The book is similar to all the books I’ve illustrated or coauthored in the past, they have an educational tool at the heart of them. This book is what’s called “thanatalogical,” it’s about the concept of death. It’s to be used when a child is going through an understanding of what is death.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: Perhaps a family reading it together can get to the catharsis point of grief, and bereavement and understand how to, as a family, move forward, with a positive perspective.
V: So, this will be the message on the wall? You’ll send it to us people?
T: The October 22nd event of the TEDx conference is the trailer for the larger graphic novel.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: I was asked by the gallery that I just had my last exhibition in, to do another performance in September. I was trying to think if I would do something different, and I decided, no, I must complete this book and bring the next chapter forward.
V: It’s very deep. Especially for kids who are not educated enough about the topic. Like that.
T: Right. I feel that Victorians talked a lot about death, and very little about love. And we (modern people) talk a lot about love, but not a lot about death. So, when death does come up as a topic, parents tend to go blank and not know how to process it in discussion with a child.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: As a children’s book author, I use my home library a lot to explain things to my kid. If she needs to work through anger, I’ll pick up a book about cooling down, breathing and calming down through anger. Or if we are going to the dentist, I’ll pick up a book and we’ll read a book about going to the dentist. Figuring that out together. Or the day before school starts, we’ll read a book about going to school and what is school all about. I feel like, to me, it is an amazing tool to have a book that you, as a parent, do not have to come up with the best words right on the spot. But having someone who has spent nearly 15 years working on this project–
V: Yeah, it’s a lot.
T: — it means that I can gift it to parents and know that I’ve saved them that task.
V: Do you think that the project you’re going to paint on the wall will be useful for kids? So, kids could come and join and see your performance?
T: This is the introduction. I had done, let’s say the practice version of it previously, with my collaborator the violinist.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: Children were present in that audience.
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: I feel that perhaps 5 years old and above, could sit through 10 minutes.
V: Yeah.
T: Depending on the child, maybe younger, but that would be up to the parents who are experts of their own child to know whether they can sit through.
V: Yeah, it’s true. What do you want to give through your message?
T: I feel that illustrating big ideas has been the practice that I have brought forward through my career as a children’s book illustrator, always working with big, big ideas that are complicated and need some visuals. The thing that I want to bring through this message in the performance next week, is the continuous line method, with live music–
V: Mmm hmmm.
T: — can be very exciting. Very interesting. A lot of people have never seen anything like this before. I hope people will be excited to see live art happening, and engaging with classical music, improvised for a performance. Going on the theme of the classical music, I would love for children to be more engaged with classical music.
V: That’s true, yeah.
T: If I mix it all together!
V: If I might ask, do you think you will go into a meditative state, while you are performing?
T: I would like to think that I would! Because I need to blank out all of the faces that are looking at me and I also need to stop the critical thinking side of my brain and allow myself to fluidly go into my art, on the creative side, of my thinking. I would love to ask you as a professional who shares breathing techniques, if there’s anything you could share with me, as advice. Do some art therapy for the artist!
V: Yes, I understand. I think what would help you on the spot is bring your awareness to your breathing. That’s how it helps to switch off the mind. You start drawing. But you bring all your attention to your breathing. You inhale. And you exhale. And you can repeat inside yourself, inhale, and exhale.
T: (deep breathing)
Then you can also use the thumb of your right hand, and do the alternate nostril breathing? You know the technique? It’s like a U-turn breathing, where you inhale and close the right nostril, with the thumb and you inhale with the left nostril. Then you close the left nostril, with the index finger and exhale through the right nostril…
T: (deep breathing)
V: …and inhale through the right nostril, and exhale through the left nostril. And you keep going. Just before your show, you will feel the difference, just before you arrive, rushing with all your tools, then you take 10 mihnutes before theshow, then you start breathing, then. You breath out, and all the tension will go away, you will feel different, your nervous system will calm down, you will cool down.
T: Mmm hmmm.
V: Or if you need to do something on the stage, you can also just close the left nostril, and breath from the right nostril…
T: (deep breathing)
V: …and this will bring all your concentration back.
T: To the nostrils.
V: You will no longer feel distracted by any noise, it is going to be just you, and your board, and your love, and—what will you use to draw?
T: Well, this is the dilemma, if there are more than 250 people, I would need to be drawing bigger.
V: Yes.
T: I’ll have to be using a darker, bigger ink. I’m not sure if I can enlarge my images, because it takes a big physical movement to enlarge it very big. I’m hoping to do a test run, on Saturday morning with the paper and the boards that will be part of the performance next week and see how big I can do it. One of the things I worry about, as an artist, is if I enlarge it too much, if it will lose some of the detail that gives it the quality that I like. It’s going to be a work in progress, actually, a work of progress in public, on stage!
V: I’m sure everyone will love it. Because it’s new. I haven’t seen anything like that in TED. Maybe I’m wrong, because I follow TEDtalks, but to me, every talk is special. So, the message that you want to send to all of us, is going to be special. It is special, it’s different, it’s coming from your heart, you want to share, you want to bring this message to every person sitting in the room and outside in the world.
T: Thank you so much and thank you for the breathing techniques that will help me get through the stage fright. Thank you for your time today.
V: Thank you so much for coming! Let’s have a little bit more tea!
T: Yes!
V: Cheers! Enjoy the afternoon, we wish you a pleasant day. Our company, we’re the Art Tea Party, with Tamar and Viktoryia.
Together: Goodbye!
(Lipstick & Masks Don’t Mix)
I now know what it takes to paint, plan and welcome people to art events and sell art during a pandemic.
It takes: flexible dates (watch out for panic), constant considerate communication (bring in forgiveness), safety & sterility measures, and in the end, letting go and gratitude.
I’d never painted a whole art collection during a national lockdown. I’d never planned an art show during a global pandemic. I’d never seen the relief of culture lovers reconnecting in the “new normal.”
More art lovers showed up to my art show IMMENSITIES than expected. They came with smiles behind masks, in hope for interaction, solitary culture vultures, some in pairs and some small families, all arriving slowly but surely to Art Base gallery here in Brussels, Belgium.
It was my honour to welcome some visitors on their first venture out of the house since the beginning of the global Coronavirus pandemic.
The pandemic switched up my audience. I noticed those taking precautions were buying art online, and the majority of those coming in person were a new audience, many people I met for the very first time. It was surprising to meet so many new people after months of interacting with only a small bubble.
Here are my suggestions on How to Run A Successful In-Person Arts Event During a Pandemic.
Step 1)Make sure your dates are in line with pandemic restrictions.
Check both you and the gallery are comfortable with the date, postpone if there is a lockdown or red-zone level restriction that would limit your audience or make you as hosts feel uncomfortable. Check the government guidelines for numbered groups of non-family members. Make sure your ticket sales option has restrictions in place that reflect the government guidelines. The main theme underlying these step is the uncertainty, the fear of planning things that might not come about, the wariness in case it will be rescheduled or cancelled. “Pandemic permitting,” might be the phrase to put at the end of every supply chain interaction. Work towards the event on any element that you can despite a possible changing date. It’s better to have everything ready and postpone than wait until dates are secure and be biting your nails for months and rushing at the last minute. The quality of your work will be closer to guaranteed if you do everything steadily.
Step 2) Make sure your audience understand what’s going on.
This is where we must embrace social media (as dark and scary as it is). Every time there was an iota of information regarding location, dates, preparation, event plans, I made sure to communicate it with utter transparency through almost all my social media channels and website. This was exhausting, but I hoped gallery visitors anticipating the show were getting answers to the questions that they wanted to ask. I answered event safety questions from gallery visitors through Facebook (personal pages, professional pages and event invites), Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, email, text message SMS, Facebook messenger, WhatsApp, my website, Instagram direct messages and telephone calls.
I made three mistakes.
I should have made an email invitation or forwarded on the gallery’s newsletter with the full description of the event to those guests who do not use social media at all.
Although I made Instagram and Facebook stories, I should have also made video blogs on my YouTube channel to update people and to outline the strategies that we were putting in place for other art event planners that might want these guidelines in a visual format (e.g., I watch How To…. videos on YouTube more than reading blogs like this). This video output could have included a live Zoom or YouTube streaming experience of the artwork that would have made it accessible to e.g. family far away (I’m still bummed my mother has not seen any of this painting collection in person).
There were a lot of TV news cameras and newspaper cameras in the gallery. This happened at my last show and a lady confidentially asked to have her background profile removed from any social media posts. I mentioned this in advance when talking in person or on the phone to prospective visitors but I should have made it clearer in every interaction, including emphasising to gallery visitors that they then have the duty to inform their plus ones. There was one guest’s plus one, a gentleman in particular who did not feel comfortable having news cameras in the gallery and I regretted not giving him a more reassuring fair warning.
Those mistakes, those gaps in the information output, are regretful. However, the main theme underlying this step is forgiveness. You cannot do everything. No one can. You cannot create high quality work, put together a high-quality event AND use all the social media and communication networks to the extent they offer (there are always more ways you can utilise them, that’s part of the addiction). Unless you have a massive media communication team at hand, and even then, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to coordinate all the information needed during a pandemic.
The reason that you can never “win” and do it all is because it’s a moving target. It’s a living organism. Event planning is a protean beast at the best of times. During the global Coronavirus pandemic, we’ve noticed governments sharing conflicting information. If the official information is conflicting, and ever changing, then we individuals have no hope of doing everything by the book. Just try your very best to respect the official guidelines but also pay attention to what feels right for you and your audience.
Even if the government says you can now have up to 200 people at an event, you might not feel comfortable and you might know your audience well too. (They are likely to feel similar to you because your audience is attracted to your content due to the connection you feel already, the shared expression of humanity already bridging between you.) If you don’t feel comfortable and you know your audience won’t either, then consider doing it a different way (an online gallery experience perhaps) that would suit you on a personal level and the people you are hoping to connect with. More people have been buying art online than for any of my previous shows. However, if you intend an in-person event to connect art from your heart to people with a kinship, you need to make sure the presentation reflects that relationship. The way you would want a wedding to reflect your relationship.
If you put on an event that doesn’t suit your personality or needs, the art itself will become alienated from the people that end up trying to connect to it. It will be disingenuous to invite everyone you know to a place where you don’t want them to be. We all have to be in the right head space to connect in the arts. Unless you are buying original art for investment purposes only, it’s more likely you’ll be looking to find a bond with a painting. We need to be feel safe to engage with the artwork. This is not the time for forcing provocation upon an already anxiety-burdened public.
Step 3) Prepare a safe entrance and exit strategy.
Gallery visitors were ready to go out on the town, but in a safe way. They were tired of not living their lives. The gallery owner devised a numbered ticket rotation system where you viewed the paintings in a clockwise direction. If more than 20 people were in the room you were asked to pass your number to the next person at the door and step to the open-air gathering space just outside the gallery. We planned that if there were more than 40 people on opening night that I would then do my little welcoming and contextualising speech amongst everyone outside, rather than encouraging us all to linger too close inside.
Step 4) Love your collaborators. Show some compassion to all the other people making this thing happen in your team. The photographer has lost a lot of business during the lockdown. The gallery owner had to cancel a lot of events and had rising debts. I’m sure many art galleries are facing untenable rent and utility bills. I stepped up the dialectic rate and the empathy in my communication with all suppliers and contractors and collaborators. A pandemic is a time for an empathetic friend, not a diva. (Actually, I don’t know when is the time to be a diva.)
In this circumstance I listened to whatever the gallery owner suggested and worked as hard as possible to be flexible on dates and in-gallery hours. I paid the photographer more than invoiced because we’ve got to keep each other alive when we can. An arts event is more of a family gathering than a corporate event would be. We are often poorly paid for the amount of hours put in, underappreciated as limited producers in the capitalist system, and each of us are facing just as much uncertainty as our cousins in the theatre and music spheres. No one here is future proof and the new normal is eating into all of our savings.
Just be kind.
Step 5)Mask wearing
VIP guests asked “Should I wear a mask in front of the news cameras?” I worried my lipstick would have rubbed around my mouth like a clown. Should I wear make up under my mask? Should I take my mask off when being interviewed? The government guidelines on mask wearing changed mid-show. Again, I think it’s courteous to ask permission from the press journalist or interlocutor, “do you mind if I take my mask off?” I also think this harks back to the comfort level described above. If you are more comfortable taking precautions your audience might be similar to you and want the same things. If you are feverishly denying this global event and it is part of your brand to clan together with other deniers, you’re probably reading the room correctly and in that kind of event masks might not even be welcome!
Step 6)Cleaning
Keeping a sterile home is impossible, a sterile public space is even more tricky. If it were my gallery, I might have budgeted for more cleaning, however I understand it’s a LOT to do and stay on top of and costly in time and energy or cleaning bills. This is one of those areas of concern that has been voiced to me by parents of young children (as I am) who are already losing the battle of control. I feel it helps to know the space you are entering, as you are also entering into a nonverbal contract of trust. You might have visited in the past and known what their level of cleanliness is or been to similar venues or museums and become familiar with what to expect. Do not expect a higher standard of sterility than what you experienced pre-pandemic, because I can speak with assurance, the post-pandemic world is more strapped for time and cash and the cleaning budget might be one of the first things to slip. If parenting a child who touches everything (and then their mouths) is part of the concern, then this needs to be assessed by the parent who is battling with what compromised level of control they need to in order to enjoy an activity in a public space.
Step 7)Letting Go
This bring us to Step 7, letting go. It’s the day of the show. You’ve survived lockdown. You’ve done the artwork to the peak of your present ability. You’ve prepared the hanging devices. You’ve transported it safely to the venue. You’ve hung and curated the space. The lights are set up. You’ve communicated with transparency to your audience and with kindness to all collaborators. You’ve detailed mask safety, safe entrance and exit, cleanliness and courtesy with everyone involved to a comfort level that suits both you and your guests. You’ve got invitations up online and a microphone available if needed. You’re wearing something you’re excited to wear. (Don’t choose heels after months of not wearing heels! My toes experienced frightening levels of numbness after this event, for a record amount of time!) You’re in place and your car has a little note on it saying “Please don’t tow me, I’m in the gallery right now, please tell me if there’s a problem with parking here,” and similarly, your child is safe at home with a familiar babysitter and a little note that says “Please read her four stories before bed.”
The event started at 6pm.There was a moment only around 5.30 wherein I had a small vision of the near future: I know who I am and what I made, I know what this is going to be.
It was the first time I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like.
Prior to that moment I’d been unable to project a vision of the event. My own fear of the ever-developing pandemic caused a mental imagery block. This is panic. Long term, sustained panic. This is the kind of thing that causes mind-body PTSD. Painting during lockdown through the anxiety and paralysis: unable to be certain if the main exhibition event would happen or not, unable to do anything but respond to the entrapment with landscape art that represents freedom, all I could do was make sure I communicated clearly through my art and show up on the day. It might not have been a perfectly executed event, but I could not be more than I am and the art was exactly as good as I could deliver to the best of my abilities in this exact moment.
How do we calm panic in this instance? How do we cure mind-body PTSD when trying to do something normalizing in a not normal new normal? It feels innocent to offer art to friends post-pandemic, but it’s actually a huge undertaking. So we must circle back to forgiveness. I forgive myself for not following all of social media’s siren calls. I forgive myself for not being as slim as I was before lockdown. I forgive myself for not painting that one painting to the majesty of my original vision. I forgive myself for not being able to have family close-by. I forgive myself for letting go of my normal painting-by-sight. Forgiveness for painting by memory, for my new artistic abstractions which are not my normal skillset, but they are new, evolved skills. I forgive myself for weeping to calm my perfectionism. I forgive myself for making this all that it is, during this strange era, whatever it becomes.
Sustained fear is unhealthy. We have all gone through a major global event with a lot of uncertainty involved. One suggestion in PTSD therapy is to connect mind and body again. Small actions like focusing on the sensation of hair brushing, or taking warm baths, or going for nature walks and paying attention to breathing in sun and air… Also, making movement a part of daily life: silly dancing (be safe wiggling to the radio when in the shower), rough and tumble child’s play, focusing on the tasteful pleasure of healthy food choices. It’s incredibly difficult to find space for small movements when we prioritise big achievements. But without the mindful small movements we can’t survive with mental and physical health intact to enjoy this or the next big events.
Last Step For Life (Never to Forget)Gratitude
Thank your guests for showing up. Thank your art collectors for investing in a living artist. Thank your collaborators for bringing their skills to the table. And acknowledge that your stubborn commitment to your art made a live event. Passing on that commitment to your art is a kind of death, a possible depression and stepping back from an event you committed to would be fading away from the community you’re contributing to, and fading away from the positive vision of vibrant humanity you’re trying to express and keep aflame at this time. The real-life interactions are brimming with possibility at these kinds of events and we all need that kind of optimism at this time. Thank the gallery owner for sharing their space. Thank the journalists for sharing their platforms. Thank the locality for a sense of place. Thank the babysitter for the childcare. Thank the support from the loved ones that are left. And pat yourself on the back for having made something new and hopeful come alive in this ridiculous world.
My art show IMMENSITIES is on until Oct 10th. Art Base, 29 rue des Sables, 1000 Bruxelles
“I’m serious. I would love to have you make a painting or drawing inspired by current COVID-19 family life…”
14 May 2020 – Day 70 of our family’s Covid19 Lockdown in Belgium I wrote on Facebook:
“Out of curiosity, I timed and averaged across the interruptions yesterday. On average, during the moments when I explicitly told her I would be doing something other than engaging with her (e.g. working/cooking/going to the bathroom) my nearly 4 year old interrupted me every 15 seconds. For those of you who don’t understand what it’s like to be in lockdown in an apartment with no garden, with no childcare support, with a young child, imagine your thought process being interrupted on average every 15 seconds between 6.30 am and 8pm every day for 70 days. It’s INTENSE, people.”
Many, many people messaged me publicly and privately with solidarity but one message was bit different.
Mark Carlson wrote:
“Tamar, can you paint this feeling on canvas?”
“Uninterrupted?”
“I think the interruptions would be part of the art. Or maybe the interruptions are the art. Can I commission a painting about this from you?”
“If you don’t mind the painting taking 900 years to complete [smiley face emoji].”
“Sounds like you already have a working title for the work [winky face emoji].”
“Haha! SOLD to the patient man in the front row.”
Then he sends me a private message:
“I’m serious. I would love to have you make a painting or drawing inspired by current Covid 19 family life. No rush and no expectations on my part. I think your talents are pretty cool.”
“Oh my goodness! I thought you were joking. I’d be delighted to do this project. Thank you. Will have to brainstorm how to depict all the big feelings. Thank you!”
“I really like your work and would love a way to remember this experience in life… I would like to hang something on the wall. You have the liberty to choose what it is. Thanks!”
“This is an amazing opportunity to be creative. I’m excited and inspired to do something that relates specifically to this era. I’ve started brainstorming ideas.”
“Please choose the size and materials that fit your inspiration. I will worry about finding a place to hang it. This moment in time is so rich in emotions. I am happy to are inspired.”
“Thank you so much for this opportunity, and for your faith in my abilities.”
21 May 2020:
At first glance this illustrated painting could be mistaken for a landscape, or a city park view. In fact, the subject is more precise. The neighbours. The pandemic allowed us to meet the neighbors. Can you see them on the balcony? People we’ve never spoken to before, cheering with us every night for the medical workers during the corona virus global pandemic, then shouting <<À demain!>> “See you tomorrow!”
I titled the painting <<À Demain!>>
As I was painting on our little balcony, cautious of the way the sun moved around the buildings and whipped the shadows out and around the other balconies I thought about how this art collector allows me to stay true to my creative inspiration, and yet is telling his own story about what he wants to see in a work. He trusts me to execute it well, he knows my interpretation might be akin to his own, as he’s known me for a few years and has a pretty strong grasp on my values through observation. At core he’s telling me all that matters to him is the creative documentation of a never before experienced, now globally shared event. I guess you could then conclude that we have collaborated on this project, through years of knowing each other as neighbours, this mutual knowledge, the trust, the creative skill set and the creative commission… yes, a unique collaboration befitting a public display of gratitude, as in the painting.
With Mark’s encouragement, I painted from our balcony, immortalizing a unique moment we shared: Every night my husband and child and I join the neighbours in a public display of unifying gratitude. See what looks like a trumpet in the turret? Someone in the turret next to them plays what I think is a trumpet, or maybe a French horn. He was always just inside the window, so the external image is from my imagination. He’s only learning and it certainly doesn’t sound perfect, but it brings tears to my eyes to hear that almost-salute. It’s the intention that counts. This painting is really about something unique to our experience of the pandemic; a public practice of gratitude, every night in our neighborhood.
The first time it happened I was holding my child in one arm, waving with the other, my husband shouting <<À demain!>> and I knew I’d never forget how unique that moment was, shared with intimacy with unknown neighbours made known by our shared experience.
I invited Mark to come see the work unfold as I painted it, standing beneath our balcony. I painted en plein air, attempting with all my might to get it all in one go, to commemorate the theme of a singular moment in time. This watercolour and mixed media painting is not as belabored as acrylic works because Mark asked me to include family life in the theme. There is no way I could have gotten through so many layers of colour and mixed media if I had even attempted oil paints. So, it’s the urgency in completion that brings the dynamism of the watercolour and mixed media to this canvas. I hope the unrestricted movement of the oil pastels, for example, can be seen by the viewer to bring a sense of immediacy to the image.
“No restrictions, whatever you want, just documenting this time.”
I was a little frightened that whatever may be my vision may not suit Mark’s aesthetic taste, but more than that, I felt deeply, truly honoured by the trust he put in me and incredibly impressed. For this is how this person, this art collector, demonstrates his creativity: with a truly original brief that pinpoints an era in time.
We spoke on the phone before I delivered it by hand.
Mark said, “Throughout history artists painted historical moments, I am yet to see art based on this historical event.”
I realized more than just creativity, there is a journalistic element here. As a professional video journalist, he’s expressing and exploring his own high level career through another high level medium; documenting historical events through this creative art commission.
The finished piece is the largest watercolour I’ve ever done.
A couple of details about the work: I have been primarily a portrait painter for many years, and portraits are about a likeness, capturing the essence of a person no matter the angle. In contrast, whenever I create a landscape I work hard to make it at an angle that is always accessible. The audience is invited to step inside. My landscapes create another room, an extension in your home. You look through your wall to another world that welcomes you.
We are the viewers, from our balcony. I do not comment on the tight quarters of our apartment. Or the length of time we’ve been indoors. I don’t comment on the very few vehicles left on this busy street. Or the empty sky that normally buzzes with airplanes from Brussels airport and helicopters covering EU summits. This scene is quiet. To people who know this park, this neighbourhood, like Mark and his wife Anita, they could tell you that’s part of the era I’m capturing here: a quiet street that is not normally a quiet street at all is a statement in itself. It’s a subtle statement. It’s one for people in the know.
I know that they enjoy our neighbourhood park as much as we do and I hoped that by immortalizing the tree-lined avenue they commute through every day it would be a painting they could carry with them through life, taking the park and the light and life it brings wherever they go.
I hope it’s clear, even though this pandemic has instigated truly tragic deaths and insolvency, my current work is still trying to share a positive and bright approach. It’s not gloomy or apocalyptic or expressing the frustrating circumstances around these strange pandemic times. Instead I’m expressing the way we connected with our unknown neighbours every early spring evening with light, bright colours and a dynamic movement in the brush strokes as the wind passes through the deserted park trees.
There’s a slight sense of grief in the way I depict our neighbourhood park from a distance. It’s not available to us now, only expressed to those familiar with it’s form, those who might spot that I excluded the park gates, any opening to the inside of the park, in this particular image. You’re welcome to enter the painting but we were not welcome to play in our park during the pandemic. If reading between the lines, that’s the only slight sadness on the canvas. The park play was literally policed and so the inner park was not alive to us. Here we are on the periphery. The periphery of the park and leaning over our balconies to applaud with others at their periphery too. The split-second depicted here is joy, the joy of meeting people from where we live, connecting to where they live and greeting them evening after evening. Even though the trumpet may not be in tune, it was still stirring. This piece may not be illustrating the sensitivities of loss or pushing abstract boundaries as Shock Art, but the positivity I try to portray is actually deeply, stubbornly and even politically reactionary. I encouraged Mark and Anita, to frame it with something bright like goldenrod yellow. It’s the sunlight on the leaves and the joy in this landscape that is reactionary to the anxiety portrayed in the current newscape. It may be Mark’s job to tell us the current news in images, but it’s my job to help you sit with them for years to come.
8 June 2020:
“It’s everything we could have wished and more!” ~ Anita Holten Carlson
“Unbelievable. The level of detail is amazing. This painting really invites you to walk right into it.” ~ Mark Carlson
“Thank you Mark! It was a very exciting project.”
When Mark sent this image of the work in a temporary frame I was really shocked how much more detailed it looks from a distance. While painting on our tiny little balcony I forgot to step into the house, to stand back from it while I was painting, to see how much detail carried up from ground level to the audience at a distance. I hope it does the same for the viewer, carrying vibrant details up to the viewer remembering this unique era at a safe distance in the future.
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Brief Bio
Educated in London and Cambridge, Tamar has published as an author, illustrator and editor of multiple award-wining books designed for families, classrooms and doctors. Her prized artwork is highly collectible, commissioned by private collectors, sold at private auctions and exhibited in galleries around Europe.