Introduction.
On March 16th 2020, I had to shield from the coronavirus pandemic that engulfed Scotland and the rest of the world. During this time I was living alone, in a first floor flat with no garden space and I had to leave my work during this time. I had to shield because of covid-19 due to my life long medical condition, a rare genetic disorder called X-Linked agammaglobulinemia; the condition prevents me from producing my own white blood cells and stops my body from fighting infections.
I stayed inside for 96 days, and waited 118 days until I hugged a loved one. 19/3 is the story of that time and the art displayed was created in and around this period. This project deals with isolation, loneliness, paranoia, fear and my attempts and failure to find hope during this time.
The world remains changed a year on, and I don’t know the next time I will be physically exhibiting work again. A lot of us will remain changed and some of us have lost more than any of us could ever imagine.
19/3 is only my slice, my story. I’m conscious people have lost more and suffered throughout this last year in ways I will never know. I process all my trauma and pain through art, as I always have. This is a new extension of my pain, and I hope that in exploring it, you find something you need. Just like I did.
Disclaimer.
I’d like to take a second to leave a disclaimer before you get into the project. 19/3 deals with a lot of dark thoughts I had in this time and the majority of the written work remains unedited, out of respect to the mindset I was in at the time. Some may find the words used a little disturbing, or traumatic in relation to the pandemic and the virus. This is a heads up to such content.
Nobody is perfect, and this project isn’t either, but it is what got me through what I can only describe as one of the toughest periods of time in my life.
Dedication.
This project is dedicated to my family; Joyce, Craig, Louise.
To Benji, my first hug of summer.
To the Kanjiklub; Danielle, Scott and Luke.
To Chelsey. To Hannah and Rosie. To Sam and Jules. Cammy, Scott, Callum and Paul.
To all my friends.
To 50 weeks. To talking all day, everyday... this project is for you even if you never see it. ♡
To those I no longer speak with, my paranoia got the better of me many times. To those who were around me virtually during this time; you all are subconsciously part of this project as much as people I know in real life. You have all helped me in ways that I’d spend all day trying to be thankful for. A part of this project contains a section of you. I miss you all more than I could possibly explain.
This project is also dedicated to the incredible team at the Scottish National Blood Transfusion Service and the Home Therapy Nurses. The team who make sure my safety and well-being over the years is grand enough that I can create, thrive and live my wonderful life.
To the entire NHS and every single person who has helped, fought and supported our health service throughout this pandemic.
This project is dedicated to those who are not with us now.
Store Information.
All the paintings and photographic work will be available from the store on this site from 7pm, April 9th, 2021. The store is accessed from the top right hand side, where you can find the work (and some remaining old paintings), pricing and sizes too. The full artwork in its entirety is available to view here on this exhibition page (over the weekend, more images will update on the store to show the work for sale at its full size).
Paintings purchased will be delivered two - three weeks from purchase. Overseas from the UK will have a postage and packaging fee attached. If you would rather purchase work in person offline, please private message me at michael.wight@me.com . A portion of money made from the sale of the paintings will go to charities hit by the pandemic, of which I’ll update information about soon.
Due to covid restrictions currently in Scotland, the framed photographic prints will not be available until June 2021, in order to let me cope with demand and framing. However, they are limited runs, so if you want to pre-order, please do so. £10 from each photographic print will go to charities hit by the pandemic, which I will update about in the coming weeks.
(image above: if only you could love april the way i love you)
‘if only you could love april the way I love you’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
as part of the “fragile system” series for 19/3, I wanted to create a series of images that matched the energy of my painted mixed media works. in using fibre wire individually coated in acrylic paint, I found a way to reenact this feeling. as a series of works, “fragile system” relates to many things impacted by the pandemic, one of them mainly being how fragile we are ourselves as human beings. “April” as the first image, is showing a rough cellular idea, of how the body would try to fight off an infection, continuing the trend in every project I have of at least one artwork showing an infection being fought. as good a place as any to start.
‘alone’
(written June 2020, during Scotland’s reopening with phase one, access outside still not allowed for those in the shielding catagory)
I didn’t feel alone here
Until the first week in June,
When you all started playing
you all started living.
There’s a feeling we all had it bad.
Different extents and perspectives,
inside and isolated,
stuck in my nightmare bubble.
That died when the sun came.
It’s rays burning through trust, respect.
Scorching caution and
scorning my hope for air.
You shared your sunburn,
to a friend who couldn’t feel fresh air.
You shared your takeaways, with
a friend who was scared of door handles.
Like I’m in a paper bag,
disregarded, soaked and shrunken
and I’m floating down river.
Nobody even sees me now.
I feel alone now.
I finally broke down and cried.
I’ve not sobbed like that since
my first dog died.
There’s beauty in alone.
I’ll find it I know.
I found it before.
I can do it again.
But, alone hurts when it’s imposed.
When it’s a betrayal of what I’ve shared.
“I’m so tired of it and depressed man” -
Then why you got to break the rules, man?
Some of us held on for so long.
I’ve not held anyone in so long.
It’s not for lack of wanting,
it’s for the fear of unknowing.
You and your relentless bravery
or have I misread blind stupidity?
Selfishness wrapped in a face covering,
fuck, these four walls are smothering me.
I’ll be alone
until I’m allowed to make a choice,
a risk or a chance to take.
My life in numbers, my name on grey slate.
I’ll be alone.
Until I’ve felt it’s safe.
But I’m alone in my head now,
and that’s a fucking disgrace.
(image above: ‘open’)
‘open’ (2020)
(acrylic on canvas)
(H:65 cm L:50cm W:2cm)
(SOLD)
Open is a landscape from a view from my flat window, an insight into what I could see each night. On a nightly basis, as spring turned to summer, I got to see beautiful sunsets and sunrises, and with them, the memories I had once spent under them. I took great joy in the clear nights when I could see Arthur’s Seat in the distance and see the city lights of Edinburgh remain static; a reminder of what once was and what would one day become again. Open.
‘will you be my best friend again?‘
(written, in April 2020)
I made a list,
who I’d want at my funeral
if I wake up and I’m vacant,
my heart in another’s body,
my brain wandering north.
(as it does, as it has)
there’s not many on it
a small and ample list
friends. less family. you get the gist
see, my friends are my heroes
my flawed main characters
the ones who’s story I’d follow,
queue for, midnight release
they build me and level me out
favourites to win this season
top two from school roots, warmth of intelligence
two from a time far gone, brothers really
three slayers, stoic, my toxic shelter
one, now a parent, still my root anchor
all expected from me,
turn up for the affair
as I would do in similar
and at the heart of it all,
the one and only,
the one who knows my main story;
my sister.
the one friend I’ve had from doorway jumpers
the one who’s been there
the one who knows my chaotic fire
when you’re both moulded
by the same events, same threats
you share a bond thats unbreakable
unbreakable
a chain of memories I’ll remember forever
yours is always my favourite story
will you be my best friend again?
when all of this is over,
will you be my best friend again?
life got in the way
in the minutes we said we wouldn’t let it
a pandemic followed, and tested
unbreakable bonds
for breakable people
I broke and you fed my fire
the fire I dish out
you know who we got it from
the source flame, the one I never name
how you see broken people as whole
I’ll never learn how,
how it amazes me, how it always will
you use that fire to warm
to melt and mould
me back from broken
back to myself again,
fire from fire, pain from pain
will you be my best friend again?
I know the answer already,
but I’ll ask again
(image above ‘understood’)
‘understood’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
There is a maturity to understanding. Not just understanding rules or the ways a virus works to spread, but in many things. Understanding when it’s time to give something up, to pull away, to simply know when to move on. Pulling the plug on relationships and watching them drain away is never pretty, but it’s sometimes the most mature thing to do.
(image above: ‘everything but the kitchen sink’)
‘everything but the kitchen sink’
(acrylic, charcoal, pastel, oil, chalk and pencil on canvas)
(H:59cm L:80cm W:4cm)
(SOLD)
‘everything but the kitchen sink’ was a painting crafted from many nights of digital overworking old images I had taken prior to the pandemic, which I then crafted into abstraction. I wanted to play with the over saturation I’m sure we all felt at the time of those first lockdown months. How everything seemed so much more important, the smallest of problems becoming bigger issues than our everyday normality wouldn’t let us take a second glance at.
‘breathing’
(written in May 2020, during our second full month of lockdown. ‘breathing’ is a conversation within my own head, about developing jealousy towards people who didn’t have to shield from the virus)
visceral news
contributing to my insula survival
tied with theory ribbons and thoughts in passing
passing you, you pass me too
shameful actions
bringing me back to my sweet insula
making a mockery of me,
tripping over looped video, tripping
react always
insula becomes my only friend here
time in isolation becomes a soul trick
a standing at the door prick, looking like a right dick
breathing in
oxygen gets sent inside, downside,
my lungs expand and fill
the fullest they can go, the fullest they will be
forming dreams
gift me a normal immune system
I want to be like the rest of them
just once, for a day, give me a break
collating facts
my new self in upload
all this new knowledge I’m stewed in
deny yourself the facts, for ignorance is bliss
ignorance is bliss
when ignorance could be a kiss
hello insula, it’s me,
help me not be angry again.
go
go get your kiss
ignorance is bliss is why the most horrific people are the happiest now.
(image above: ‘countdown’)
‘countdown’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
The image displayed for ‘countdown’ was made in my make shift photography studio in the flat, using LED camping lights attached to toilet roll holders for elongated grip, with pillowcases and bedsheets as dark backdrops. ‘countdown’ represents a reminder that each week during lockdown I had to do my blood transfusions alone, something which I had never done since moving to home treatments at the age of fourteen. This part of the pandemic I found incredibly difficult, and I believe my mum would have also struggled with this too. We all were counting down the days till we could be around each other once more, with each strand of medical tubing here representing each transfusion i’ve done alone since then.
(image above: ‘5am kubrick’)
‘5am Kubrick’
photographic print available for pre-order from the store.
The ‘5am Kubrick’ is one of many photographs taken during lockdown, in which I edited and distorted my appearance.This is something of a pseudo portrait of me, although it could very well be of anyone else. The Kubrick stare, as hinted at in the famous stare the title of the photograph, points to people at the peak of their derangement. I worked on this when I truly began to lose all routine and concept of my time spent in isolation. Around two months in, my mornings became nights and vice versa. I was only anchored in by daily updates and the once a week food shop delivery.
‘desensitised and sanitised’
(written near the end of April 2020, I came up with these thoughts after scrubbing down my medical surfaces I was about to use and hearing of a close friend who had caught the virus)
the human body being so fragile and so easily corrupted by this virus, it just makes everything seem so temporary.
a blink and miss it, scarily short time, each of us an individual firecracker on a wheel that spins until it smokes out.
one minute we are here, then we aren’t.
one minute they are here, then they aren’t.
one minute you're kissing strangers at a music festival and the next you’re scared of touching a door handle. one minute you’re dancing in a nightclub and the next you’re scared to wash glass dishes incase something breaks and you end up in a&e.
a&e.
the one place nobody wants to be.
there are people who we will never see again, share a hug with, share a kiss with. and that hurts.
all the meanwhile we are all being robbed of time., this virus, this danger, it can be obliterated with soap and water.
time being taken,
first dances,
first steps,
last words,
progression,
regression,
transition
it’s all being stolen from us and anyone who isn’t feeling this, is taking it when they shouldn’t have.
the sacrifices some have made while others roamed and contributed nothing. the selfish or the smart? who played it safe and who just didn’t play the game?
it’s maddening. you’d be crazy to not be crazy now.
every single one of us is special and unique in our own way and nobody’s life is up for uprooting. there’s never a good time to go. never.
there’s not an acceptable time to pass.
every person who was taken came from a time before and a main root, someone who stems from a family and a growth of knowledge and experiences, beautifully made in their own lives.
as I sit here and spray my table and wipe it down with lukewarm water, I think how I may be killing it in front of me, destroying the life destroyer, clearing the danger from my existence. the invisible killer. the time thief.
soap and water. soap and water.
fragility. temporary.
make it all count.
the only person counting your time is yourself.
(image above: ‘olenna’)
‘olenna’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
‘olenna’ is one of the more explosive images taken from the ‘fragile system’ photo series. it strikes me as an image that’s burning out, on its way out, but it has another striking fire of ember to deliver before it rests into the darkness. tell covid. I want it to know it was me.
‘the only way out is down’
(written in June 2020, reworked in November 2020)
blocked on all sides
trapped in an hourglass that keeps spinning
over and over
drowning in repetition
drowning in time time time time alone
giving me an unkind disposition
no way up, and no way out
I tried to dance my way out
but the lights came on and all my friends are home
even thought of becoming a ghost,
haunt the rooms,
these organs that keep me moving, breathing
sinking again
into the dark water pooled in my head
I feel sick, I feel dread
I feel topical, I feel dead
with all the exits shut
and all the dots joined,
I painted a scene
a spectre of what life used to be
I climbed up in it,
became weaker and my legs gave out
lying on the floor, on night eighty-four
I felt the pulse of the other flat heating
the sound of a kid crying
the word of a mother soothing,
the comfort that life was there
people nearby,
hearts beating
'cup of hot blooded to go’
(acrylic, pastel on canvas)
(H:150cm L:100cm W:4cm)
(available for sale from the store)
Following on from ‘5am Kubrick’, ‘cup of hot blooded to go’ deals with a further portrait distortion, with a more energetic flow of paint on the canvas. I looked into static and the jagged shapes that would develop when sometimes using Skype and Zoom to chat with my friends. In some ways, the idea of finding shape and form in these new works comes down to my appreciation and gratitude for technology. Regardless of its occasional harms, technology made me feel less alone this last year.
(image above: ‘the window’)
‘the window’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
Outside started to feel like something unattainable to me, like a real danger and something that had been severed from my person. ‘the window’ encapsulated for me, the allure of going outside, even just once, to feel fresh air on my skin and exercise my body. I never once went out for my period of time inside and the want and need for freedom did begin to sour my mind. This photograph, taken after 80 days inside, illustrates the want and fear of the outside.
(image above: ‘not just a number’)
'not just a number’
photographic print - available for pre-order from the store
‘not just a number’ is a cry for people to distinguish the difference between someone who has had to endure lockdown, in comparison to someone who had to shield. they are both very different experiences, overall everyone has lost and sacrificed something in the last year, but to some, there’s been a clear divide in pain and how the lockdown was spent. Disabled and clinically vulnerable people have faced a lot of pain and loss in this last year, and it’s difficult to express how that still remains as unseen today as it did last summer. I guess what i’m asking is for some perspective. If you know someone who spent the last year in a tricker spot, check in on them.
surrounded by rot
(written in august 2020, a month after I was allowed to be outside)
everywhere I step,
uneven lies the ground
unsteady grows my mind
I pulled the undergrowth on me
hibernation in mind
this woodland got quiet
shielding myself in the times
the sirens go off
I hear the numbers, the rules
I breathe and can’t breathe, held in
all of us baited, initiated
the undergrowth outgrew me
it grew it’s own ideas
and spun it’s own tail, wreaking havoc, chaos, misery
unprotected, my support was exposed
the fragile chain link fence
the one I was balanced on
a people pleaser,
an unthinkable situation
there’s only so much pleasure pleasing brings,
before you realise you’re bringing all the warmth.
the overgrowth gone,
my supports worn and tearing,
I ventured out onto roots, my roots,
no holds for footing
the links that i clung to broke
the wood blistering, slicing me as
I fell through the tension,
hit level one in the dark
there lay my circle above me, unbroken
my safety in all this a miracle
something lay funny, tension still taut
awoke to find I’d surrounded myself with rot
crooked and twisted,
worn from years of soaked liquors
midnight stupors,
flammable and volatile,
demented in nature.
my core lay unscathed
a small base,
strong in reforging
the smaller the target, the truer the shot
surrounded by rot
it made no sense when you said you forgot
old enough and wise enough
closed in on ignorant bitters
now that made sense
I was surrounded by rot
but the rot gave way,
nothing that mean really lasts forever
I brought it down with me and it lay in the dark
broken and empty,
the decay of old friend bonds creeping towards me
thorns that cut me glittered around me,
nuclear snowfall of rot
tempted to raise my arms and call truce
but the undergrowth saved me
the insulation and protection
of friends who know your worth
take all the blood you need
there’s not a lot I have left that’s my own
the thorns seen to that,
ripped out and volatile
at the end of the day,
you can’t kill what’s already dead
‘baby’
photographic print available for pre-order from the store
‘baby’ is a shot from my window in the flat, which is echoed from the painting ‘open’. I took many photos to work on a time-lapse over the year from the same position, but during Scotland’s second lockdown (winter 2020) I captured this untouched snowfall one night. It always fascinated me how snow silences everything, and in many ways the snow falling during another lockdown added a layer to the idea of a new start, like a clean slate for everyone to stick with the restrictions and leave this new hibernation better off. Around the same time, the vaccination program accelerated and since everything seems to be tinged with hope.
(image above: ‘violence’)
‘violence’
(acrylic, spray paint electrical tape and charcoal on canvas)
(H:60cm L:60cm W:2cm)
(OPEN)
‘violence’ is part of a three piece patterned and colour exploration series that I have made especially for ‘19/3’. The shapes created in all three paintings were sketched out first in sketchbooks during the first lockdown while watching news cycles, and then created in the months that followed with pattern stencils, gloss spray paint and any other materials that came to hand during the process. I wanted the works to feel almost like a unit, that they could work together very well but would also really shine alone too.
(image above: chimera)
‘chimera’
photographic print available for pre-order from the store
The name ‘chimera’ came very late on with this piece of work. Another from the ‘fragile system’ sessions, this image stuck out to me for processing as it looked like a monster, rising about from the depths of the dark to attack or confront. As much as chimera is in reference to a mythical monster with multiple combinations of animals, chimera also means “a thing hoped for that is impossible to achieve” which I’m sure a lot of us have had to deal with in these last 12 months.
(image above: ‘eat my heart out’)
‘eat my heart out’
(acrylic, tape and gloss spray paint on canvas)
(H:60cm L:60cm W:2cm)
(OPEN)
‘eat my heart out’ is the second in the trio beginning with ‘violence’. Paintings for the most part produced as direct responses to watching news updates and sketching while the media played, ‘eat my heart out’ contains more tape as an indicator to my need for more security and to be held together. I feel as I tried to tape these works together and tape together a new pattern I was convincing myself that I could also be fixed.
‘realms’
(written June 2020)
you only appear now
in a shadow world
a world of glass
a place I can’t travel
it’s a realm I’ve not ventured
a place I can’t see
I feel like I’ve been there
but only because you tell me
how do I hold a strangers world
how do I take a strangers hand?
it’s weird how I can’t hug you
or move to a seat I can’t see anymore
it’s a realm I’ve not ventured
a place I once was
I know I was out there
I miss my dog and how I’d hold his paws
my family wear masks out now, it’s june
I’ve yet to do that routine,
I’m still stuck inside, as summer rolls in
sunlight on the floorboards, streaks on the screen
it’s a realm I’ve not ventured
a place I can’t see
I feel like I’ve been sidelined for reality
only because you cancelled on me
a realm in a glass world
a place free of domain
a glass barrier, distance and frame
am I on mute? is it my audio again?
it’s a realm I hope to venture
a place I can visit again
where I know I’ll see you there
we’ll walk and talk again
the feeling of being alone with this stranger, this thing
when the call dies and I’m left alone
staring at my half blitzed bearded form
staring back at a black mirrored screen
my minds the only realm I’ve ventured
the place I hate to visit again
I feel like I’ve never left
the front door locked, my mind caves in
I’m under the surface again, and I’m losing air
(image above: ‘what if i’m the bad guy?’)
‘what if i’m the bad guy?’
(acrylic, spray paint and tape on canvas)
(H:60cm L:60cm W:2cm)
(SOLD)
With “what if i’m the bad guy?’ I wanted to explore the mindset of someone who has actually done wrong. Are people really truly aware of their actions? The overall consequence for letting something slip, for saying the wrong thing when the right voice is required? I found it very difficult (and still arguably do) to truly communicate how my circumstances last year have left me with a worry and a uneasiness that I cannot escape. Not sure if my fear makes me a bad person or not, because for safety now, I’d put that above most things. If this makes me a bad guy, then I am.
(image above: ‘cry’)
‘cry’
(drawing provided by Stephen Wight, image construction and final edit by Michael Wight)
photographic print available for pre-order from the store
I’ve wanted for a long time, to really explore why it is that I paint and create to break away from stress and hard times. It’s been a big coping mechanism for me growing up, especially into early adulthood and even then when I was too young to understand what I was doing could be therapeutic..
During lockdown, I was able to sort out and look through old documents. During this, I came across a drawing from my Dad, Stephen. The drawing is a sketch of myself, lying post-operation after an ear surgery (my first abstract canvas painting was created about this event). Clearly, in the moment of fear and worry for my well-being my Dad turned to art/creating to cope. Finding this sketch was a complete lightbulb moment that maybe the way I cope isn’t just instinct, but is most likely hereditary. A true gift, handed down.
The image is composed of multiple versions of the drawing, a slight nod to my different characters I would imagine occupied the flat with me during shielding, and behind those, an image taken at 4am on my 96th day indoors… which would end up being my last day fully shielding.
‘hello, goodbye’
(written over three sessions (May, June and September 2020) this is sporadic writing that eventually becomes about an apple that I knew was in my car during the entire time of shielding… slowly rotting away. not just any apple.)
a world without working
months filled with hours of nothing but hauntings
not sure if this is sleep paralysis or I’m already gone
heard you scream my name and I lost my brain
so sure you’re in here with me, but it was just another version of myself that kicked up a fuss again.
a world without thinking
nights steeped in alcohol and phoning you
try all my clothes on cause what else is there to do
feeling tears forming when the birds sing
the suns up again and I’ve not slept in days
what’s living if it’s not with you?
a world without you
warning me of the bad ones, the selfish, the callous
spin me round now, make them jealous
‘you sounded different on the phone there’
well I’m not being paid to be nice here
imagined I stopped settling, how would that go?
reminder: a world without working
losers making me feel bad for doing nothing
I was born this flawed, come in, step into my pain
you got under my skin
I’d tear it off now to get you all out,
like the rotting apple lying in my car since March.
I know you’re in there, but I can’t quite reach you
a world where I am working
asked back for a day
not a single person didn’t say “you must be fucking joking”
the rotting apple fell far from the tree
it rolled and decayed, it lay alone for months that felt like years,
the apple snapped and it’s seeds fell out and that was that.
they don’t even do this to you in solitary confinement
a world in which I’m crumbling
I recycled smiling, happy, lovely Michael
the 40 somethings thought he was so decent,
and he made my life easier,
but he’s gone and I’ve tried to call him back,
I really have, but he just won’t seem to pick up anymore.
done being broken.
that self I had has gone
we smile again,
aw lovely to have you back
yeah it so is,
so nice to be back
it so is
thanks
hello, goodbye
(image above: ‘lonely boy’)
‘lonely boy’
(acrylic, wire, pastel and charcoal on canvas)
(H:100cm L:150cm W:4cm)
(available for sale from the store)
‘lonely boy’ is the first still life/portrait i’ve done in over 10 years. It’s taken from a multiple camera set up that I had set up in the flat, to capture moments of thought as part of this project. I decided to merge two mirrored compositions together, one of me with my feet up in the air (enlarged), with a smaller, darker version of myself hidden away in the centre of the canvas, protected on all sides, just as I had enforced to myself in real life.
‘useless’
(written in April 2020, immediately after my mum had been taken to a covid assessment centre after developing covid-19. It became apparent that as I was at home alone, I would be alone in anything that happened to my family too, just watching from the sidelines, useless. reworked in December 2020.)
Part 1
I couldn’t eat
figured if you weren’t getting oxygen
I shouldn’t be consuming
I started pressing my palms up,
cold and washed, against the glass
pushed on the window frame in hope I’d fall out
When I heard you couldn’t breathe
I searched for someone to blame
I looked for a culprit, a suspect or cause
But this evil is air thin
you can breathe it in
It doesn’t have favourites, it doesn’t pick or grin
I don’t think I’ve felt more useless
The call that kept me up, kept wake
I don’t think I’ve wished anything more to be fake
I struggled to fight the thoughts, the waves,
a final phone call from you? the last one? the end?
Then I’d never hear you again.
all the while I’m in
’The Safest Place’
the clean, most isolated, most confined space
What would I say?
I’d tell you I loved you
How many seconds do any of us have left?
I stopped crying.
I stopped doing nothing.
I put lead to paper and wrote something
You made it home,
you came back the way you always do
lucky to have you, and always will be
Part 2
There’s still a horrible sadness
A grief that’s seeping into everything
Loved ones gone, and time we all chased, burning.
we’re built to live, not built to last
but nobody wants this now, not now, not ever
we want time back
I’ve never felt more useless
When I heard you were getting tested
I’ve never felt more scared, more trapped inside
I know it in my chest
I can hear it in my own lungs, battle aged, worn and weak,
my whole life fighting, how much time left?
I’ve never felt more useless
Caged indoors, your voice on the phone
my forehead on the cold window, never wanting to rest again
Telling myself “now, patience”
Medicine, carers, and most of all - time.
in time we will win this, move with it.
Just wish that helped me feel less useless
‘dog years’
photographic print available for pre-order from the store
This photograph taken was titled ‘dog years’ as a dedication to two things… firstly, the notion that a lot of us do live long and wonderful lives, and dogs lives are in comparison much shorter… so this last year is but a blip in the scheme of a dogs life. Not to sound throwaway with time, as time is precious and treasured, I guess I’m directing more towards those who need to appreciate what’s right in front of them before hunting for more. The second reason for ‘dog years’ is a song by Maggie Rogers, which includes the lyrics
“I know things are changing
But, darling, I'm saying
I've been here all along”
The song itself is about trusting that things in time will be alright, and even though the photograph shows perhaps just more chaos, I wanted this message of stability to be heard through something in 19/3. I feel a solid form start to take place in this image.
‘sunsets’
(written in March 2020, reworked June and July)
sunsets hurt the most
when light falls
and shadows creep in
when the sky gives us spectrums
taunting us even
‘look! what a day you could’ve had!’
‘look at what beauty you could have been under’
who you could have been holding
what you could have been doing
sunsets hurt the most
because it signals another day gone
another day lost, another day burnt out
a reminder that hours of heat and warmth
have left again
winter on the bend
think i’ve skipped daylight on purpose
sleeping till nightfall
waking in the same spot, in the same room
sunsets hurt the most
beautiful and simple
that’s all i crave now
simple things for a simple man
a simple walk with the dog
a real laugh from a real person
even some company
even one
even a villain, in my story written for one
sunsets hurt the most
another full rotation
routine on hello, routine on ‘are you well?’
routine keeps it still, steady
not falling into undercurrents
michael in my sleep, misery in the sheets
I’ve cried into nothing
I’ve sat and done nothing
then had spikes where i’m everything, to someone’s something
sunsets hurt the most
it’s safer for me in here
why’s that not bloody clear?
I’ll try telling me that in a year
it’s important to be realistic
try not listen to people living in fear
sunsets hurt the most
because it signals another day away
don’t forget me, okay?
(image above: ‘you’ll hold them again’)
‘you’ll hold them again’
(acrylic on canvas)
(H:100cm L:150cm W:4cm)
(available for sale from the store)
‘you’ll hold them again’ was one of the first paintings that I created for 19/3, actually before I knew myself what I wanted this project to be. I had a fully realised project in prep for 2020, entitled True, which I turned on quite quickly into the pandemic and realised I’d need to focus on my current situation as a source for creativity. The painting itself tells the story of positivity and hope (the blues, reds, primaries) trying to break through the darkness of negativity.
It’s been very tough to talk about the last year, but what I will take as a positive, is the openness to talking about mental health. I’ve not always been one to share my thoughts and feelings, but if i’m glad about one thing this year, is that how often and casually it comes up in conversation with friends and family now.
‘the safest place’
(written in June 2020)
the safest place can be the toughest place you’ve ever journeyed
the safest place can be the saddest place you’ve ever been to
the safest place for you can be the most dangerous.
the safest place can be a workplace, a place filled with jokes, laughter and most importantly, breathing bodies.
remember asking someone how their weekend was?
the safest place can be outdoors.
it can be in your bed that you’ve not left for weeks now.
the safest place can be the breakfast plate.
the safest place can be when you close your eyes to dream,
or when you close them for the last time.
some people aren’t safe until they go.
the safest place can be that bar with the sticky floors.
the safest place can be the section of the garden the dog sleeps in.
the safest place can be in your head,
or when you get that message that quickens your heartbeat, and makes you glow with nerves
the safest place can be your plans for the future.
the safest place can be together.
the safest place can be your car on a rainy day
the safest place can be in the arms of a loved one you’ve not held in a year now.
the safest place can be in forgiveness
the safest place is sometimes exactly where you are right now,
it’s just nobody decided to let you know.
the safest place can be home.
Afterword.
As I write this section, it’s April 7th 2021, more than a year since I started to shield from the coronavirus pandemic. The exhibition that you’ve all (hopefully) taken time to go through and process, will be released in two days. I’m currently sat in the flat, 19/3, having officially moved out all of my belongings back to my family’s home. Circumstances aside, it’s almost poetic in a way, that I hand the keys over for this place, on the day a project specifically about it, is released. I’ll take comfort and humour in that.
I am very grateful to have had the luxury of being able to stay alone during the last 16 months. I know people have had it much worse and are more damaged, and as life opens back up these people who are more harmed need help and support.
Has it been a very challenging experience? Yes. Would I do it again to have the same outcome? Yes. Would I wish it on my worst enemy to go through? No.
I have truly struggled to be physically and mentally alone for the majority of these last 12 months, and it’s nothing in comparison to say someone working on the frontline, or someone who has to work in a customer facing role this entire time. But it has been a change, and a drastic one at that, to suddenly not see family. Not see friends. Not go outside for a simple walk.
I’m someone who enjoys being around other people. Who likes laughing around a bar, who enjoys his work, and the people I worked with. I’m addicted to cinemas, planning parties and seeing my dog. All of these things were taken away from me last year in March, and I still don’t have some of them back now.
I think there’s a deep lack of understanding, in the grand scheme of things, on how horrible it is to be simply told; “do not go outside”. I spent days awake, not sleeping, sleeping too much, not eating, eating too much, extremely upset at my circumstances and also wondering if it would have been easier to just not stay inside. To go out and risk it, drive down and hug my mum. It haunted me to know people were having more normality while I stayed inside. To miss out on my work routine and life, all because of a condition I was born into. I didn’t choose for this life or the way the last year has unfolded for me, that is how it simply arrived at my door. It’s something that will stay with me, and I’m happy that rules and restrictions have been reassessed that I’ll never have to lock myself away from the outside like that again.
We’ve all lost so much, which I believe, in the long run will make it all taste sweeter when we get it back, but some of us have lost loved ones too. There really is a sadness that’s seeped into everything and I think one day we all won’t feel this way, but for now it’s still healthy to process however you are feeling, and know there is no right or wrong way to handle this last year.
I feel like the world will gradually open back to us, I hope that to be true. I’m glad this project got me through the peak of the pandemic and very grateful to have a creative outlet that so many don’t. I’m sorry there wasn’t more paintings; I had to work in a small space. I promise less writing next time. But I am gradually working my way into my next project, which is looking at something altogether different, and I’m looking at alternative ways to make this available soon. Summer 2021.
We’ve been through tough times but I think it’ll make us all stronger as life continues on. Stay safe, and thank you for anyone who made it this far. I’m very grateful, for both your time and support.
Michael