Week 2: Looking Out
In our new reality, we are staying inside to face the unknown. As one body, we study Spring from our collective windows and consider; where does my next paycheck come from? What if it doesn't come? What will my community look like after this is over? When will this end? Looking outside for answers, we are on alert.
Curated by Pam Marlene Taylor and Kaylan Buteyn.
Click photos below to see more detail.
What do you see when you look out your window and what answers are you most anxious to receive?
Jodi Hays: “As Pema Chondrom put it, gloriousness and wretchedness need each other.” -CD Wright. My studio clearstory windows cut rectangles of sky and branches, houses and power lines. In the middle of all of what bogs us down, we resume our place as seers.
Evie Woltil Richner: When I look out my window, I see the forest behind our house. The poplars have leaf buds popping out, a brilliant spring green. Our dogwoods are still bare, but will be blooming soon. I see neighbors walking by (more than ever before). I see my kids playing in the sprinkler, so excited to have our first warm day, and my husband watching over them. Nature has been a great comfort to me recently, more than ever before. It is constant and steady, when so many things feel uncertain. I have about a million answers I am anxious to receive (mostly revolving around when this will end and what will things be like and how will everyone heal and recover), but a smaller question I would like answered (that feels big to me) is simply when will I get to see and hug my family again (my parents, in-laws, and sister).
Lynae Glass: When I look out my (figurative) window, I see a world that is fearful but also united in hopefulness. I see a mixture of grief and anxiety, but also a new sense of connectedness as we face uncertainty together. I am most anxious to know when we’ll be allowed to resume life as normal again, and I’m anxious to know what “normal” will look like once this pandemic is over (especially as a mother constantly concerned for her children’s safety). I want to know when I’ll be able to see my parents again, as they are in a country that is completely locked down at the moment.
Sarah Boyts Yoder: When I look out the window I see our fig tree. I can just see the tips of the uppermost branches and it's just beginning to grow little green buds. Being home all the time now I can watch it change slightly every day and it's a good visual reminder that time is passing and spring is coming. Also, that while everything is changing and feels scary...the outside is changing too, but it's beautiful. All the answers I want I can't have. When are kids going back to school? When can our extended family see each other again? When will I have another exhibition? So, I'm trying not to actually even think of them. Bright side! My sister is having her second baby soon and I CAN'T WAIT to hear the news. She is far away and we wouldn't be able to see each other anyway right now but I am excited to virtually meet a new family member.
Heather Palecek: Typically, when I look out my window I look for the weather and on sunny days I think of all the possibilities of adventure for the day; hiking and exploring. The last two weeks, my life has been turned upside down and when I look out the window I see emptiness and feel a yearning to get out into the world and receive the answer of when the quarantine will be over.
Hanna Washburn: Windows are a kind of soft boundary between inside and outside, filtering sounds, colors, and breezes. With all this time at home, I look out the window constantly. I listen to the birdsong. I pay attention to the way the light shifts and changes in our apartment throughout the day. I watch little clusters of blue flowers appear and expand in the backyard. Sometimes when I sit and stare and wonder out the studio window, I feel especially like one of my sculptures.
Aisha Marie: I see growth. It’s the beginning of a new year. I see the trees and flowers blooming, the animals chasing each other through the trees. The sunlight peaking through my window and when I open the window, I hear nature. I don’t hear the school alarm from the high school that’s a few streets down, the cars driving or the airplanes in the sky. I hear, see and feel peace even in the mist of chaos that’s going on worldwide. The answers I’m most anxious to receive is if it’s safe. I know things will eventually go back to “normal”, but the question is when? All of this is in divine timing and I feel that if humans don’t take this time to reflect and to spread love then when will it end? When will it be safe? Not just for us but for the generations to come.
Amanda Joy Brown: Depending on the window, I might see the front yard with joggers, dogs, delivery services, etc. passing by. From my kitchen sink I see the brick wall of the house next to us. From the back I see our yard with bird feeders that mostly feed squirrels and an unruly herb/ flower garden. At night, we have two sparrows nesting right outside the back window from sunset till sunrise every night, and it is one of my favorite things. These window views are a connection to the continuity of life and events beyond our walls, and let in shifting light every day which helps us keep a daily rhythm, as long as the sky isn’t gray. There is a constant stream of vague questions in the back of my thoughts, all centered around safety, stability and community, and how we and others will help maintain them both in our immediate communities and as a larger, interconnected society.
Avery Williamson: I see the beginnings of spring from outside my window. I hear birds, and once in a while, a passing truck or soft rain. I see tiny green growth popping through the soil. I yearn for answers from my ancestors about how they endured the pandemics that came before this one. I am most anxious about the safety of my friends and family. I want answers to when proper supplies and equipment will be given to hospitals, and when I can hug the people I care for deeply without fear of making them sick or becoming sick myself. There is sadness ahead, and I don't know how to prepare for that except to make art and appreciate the present.