What did you do over the lockdown? Are you even out of lockdown? Here in Ireland we thought we were coming out but two days ago we went backwards again; lockdown lite they are calling it. It is quite confusing because the new rules and restrictions seem to contradict some of the older ones.
I know at the start of the lockdown back in March, back in a world that is very different from today, everyone on my digital platforms got busy. I guess we didn’t know how long lockdown would last and the weather was lovely here in April. In fact, we had our summer in April and everyone was tanned in the unusually clement weather. I should point out that we have not had any other summer so far this year which is not unusual for Ireland; we often miss defined seasons with weathers all running together with rain instead of glue to keep us on track. If you don’t believe me, check our little island in satellite images, it is always green. It is also why we say if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute and it’s bound to change or rain or both.
So, with the uncertain lockdown and the beautiful weather people got gardening, home redecorating, getting fit, running 5ks (by themselves of course), taking yoga online, learning how to speak French, and a myriad of different things to keep them busy as they were furloughed. Not so the frontline worker of course – medical, supply chain, or grocery - they just got to work harder and watch their furloughed friends get tanned and fit (or some got fat, the COVID stone is a thing).
I watched the energy and the production of things. Everyone was taking what they had grown, gathered or found and made things – soups, sourdough bread, home-made face masks, poo-pourri, clay models, just lots of things. Neighbours even planted a field of sunflowers for charity which was beautiful only the great big yellow heads flowered late and then midway through their three weeks of celebrity blooming were rained upon, a lot, and flattened themselves prostrate in a rather unhappy conclusion.
But so many beginnings, so many new ventures, so many openings in this lockdown – at first, I felt bereft. I did not want to garden, I did not want to bake, I did not want to decorate, I did not want green eggs and ham.
I did do my bit though, I volunteered. My producer and I – banned from our physical radio studio – set up our own remote podcasts and videos. We chivvied the people of our home county Wicklow into better humours, we lauded the volunteers, we celebrated the great spirit of togetherness. That felt good, but it wasn’t enough.
As the lockdown crept from weeks to months, those who has started early began to fall away. The early enthusiasm for home decoration declined into boxset bingeing, gardens were planted already, enough for this year anyway, and there is only so much sour dough bread one can bake and share online.
Did I ever mention to you that I am slow burner? I was a slow burner in my social activism, I was a slow burner coming to the twin careers that I love: journalism and broadcasting, and I was a slow burner when it came to my art.
There I have said it – my art.
Forty years since I last held a paintbrush in my hand, I returned to the scene of the crime. The last time I painted, poster paint was the medium and I wore a bottle-green school uniform. I painted for my middle school state examination and I was awarded an A. As proud as Hester Prynne was not, I wore my A lightly. I have frequently thought of that A in the past forty years, but I was not moved to repeat it. How can one not paint for forty years? That is a conundrum. I doodled for sure, often, but in pen or biro at the side of a page, but never I never painted.
Universes collide and conspire even, especially, when we are not aware. We don’t need to know we just need to let the gentle flow take us to where we are meant to be. On one of my chivvying calls I spoke with an artist. I mentioned my A and he questioned my stoppage. Just do it he said.
Hidden in a back cupboard was a set of acrylics I had purchased some years ago. Never opened, just looked at. This time, I opened the set, I took out the paints and I painted my doodle.
What makes a real artist? I know many who are so critical of their own work, so shy, so slow to finish and show another.
I do not have that filter.
I paint with the joy of an 8-year-old, no maybe a 5-year-old. I paint and I have joy. Is that good or bad? I don’t know in terms of being an artist, but I sure know in terms of being joyful.
Shortly afterwards I interviewed Fred Nogeuira, founder and CEO of Pixeos. He has spent the last two years building his site Pixeos which offers a gallery where artists are verified, the artwork authenticated and the resultant art converted into NFTs or Non Fungible Tokens.
This is a growing area with collectors starting to take notice. The painters paint and then the collectors come; same as cave man drawings only it is hard to cut out large blocks of rock to place on your wall.
In collaboration with Fred, I can now present my first piece of crypto art; the NFT of my doodle. I am pleased as punch with the result – of course I am, I paint with the joy of a 5-year-old.