sharbani das gupta
las cruces, new mexico, united states
Stillness. Time has suddenly stopped; turned still. It is an unsettled stillness, like a holding of a breath, a waiting to exhale. Yet each day keeps melting into the next and I keep waking up unsure of when the previous one disappeared. The ground is shifting I think and there are more questions than I have the wisdom to answer; so for the moment I concentrate on balancing; a hand of love (sanitized of course) on an anxious son’s shoulder, a hug shared with my daughter, soothing words for my mother isolated in a room a million miles away. I talk with my husband across an elastic distance of six feet- we see each other but do not touch. His medical calling fills him with the purpose of the moment, and I understand; but for the first time it is scary, so I turn my thoughts away, towards being alone/together in a world that is shifting.
I don’t want this overwhelming tide; the tolling news, the escalations of contagion and rising panic to be the Kryptonite for the only power left to me; my empathy. I am keenly aware that despite being locked into the footprint of our homes, our families are expanding far beyond the ties of blood, as strangers care for loved ones outside our reach, and every soul lost becomes one of our own. Friendships have become anchors, mooring and reorienting me. Alone/together, talking and emoji-smiling over waves of doubt, I am watching the world learn to stay present and to see each other. We link our inner selves, stretching virtual safety nets, and we wait to exhale.
Unable to focus on my work the way I normally do, I decided to make a short film, Henge, in which my fellow artists Mira Burack, Danila Rumold, Simona Prives and LindaMae Tratechaud share the maps of their circles of support with me. A henge is a neolithic earthwork ringed by totems, used to mark solstices and sacred spaces. Our circles of friends and family are our personal ‘henges’ that sustain us and guard our inner worlds.
In the stillness of this moment, as our restless lives are stayed, the earth’s crust has stopped shaking. Time outside of us carries on reassuringly. Mexican poppies have gilded wide swathes of the mountains in gold and grizzled old men stop to look at them. The cactus plants have started blooming in lipstick shades of red and there have been two series of mourning dove families occupying the nest outside my window.
The light in the studio and the smell of clay has begun to penetrate my shock, and slowly, I have started to reorganize, to re-familiarize myself with the contours of its walls. I feel an urge to burrow, to seek light by sinking in. I want to try and make art that I can frame between my two hands, that I can carry like a talisman from this time into what is to come.