During the worst days of COVID, in that first, horrible year, I took “sanity walks” to stave off the isolation. In those days of Plague I couldn’t visit my dying, immuno-compromised father, my mother, my friends or anyone. I was not alone in walking alone. It was a very difficult time to be alive, in those early days. It eventually got better as we got to know a little bit about the virus, but in the early stages it uprooted our daily lives something ferocious. It was also the first time in my adult life that I truly envied those that had married and had children.
Marriage and children was not really a path that ever called out to me. Perhaps as a child the notion of growing up and having kids of my own seemed attractive, but more because it was what was expected of us in the 80s. Be fruitful and multiply and all of that. The biological imperative of the species. As I got older, however, it became apparent to me that that was just not a state of being to which I hungrily aspired, although I do love children and enjoy the time I spend with my nephews and niece and the children of friends. Their inquisitiveness is enchanting. But I love even more the ability to go home afterwards, marvel at the miracle of children — that the cycle of life repeats itself, ad infinitum — then retire to the quiet of my apartment and my private space.
COVID changed that — at least for a little bit, in the early part of the first year of the Plague. The sustained aloneness of the early first part of the Plague was naught else but devastating. Aristotle’s observation that man is a ζῷον πoλιτικόν — a political being that achieves meaning through social interaction — never made more sense than in lockdown. I meditated, as did so many people. And that meditative space, enlarged by the Time I spent on it in those first six months, did more than anything to preserve my stability.
I also watched television and listened to podcasts. I wrote quite a bit and finally read a lot of the books that I had always wanted to read, like Moby Dick. I ordered ethnic foods from every place that delivered to my neighborhood out of a fit of equal parts experimentation and sheer, utter boredom. I did social media and texted and made telephone calls. But none of that seemed enough to fill the massive absence of direct social interaction with other human beings. Watching couples at Trader Joes choosing food together, quite frankly, filled me with envy.
And so I began sanity walks, socially distanced. Of course, a sanity walk isn’t going to fill the vacuum of face-to face discourse and human touch. But it at least burned away some of the overwhelming nervous energy that came from living in a small Brooklyn apartment alone. I have always been a walker, but the speed and pace of New York City was never conducive to perambulation. Plus, who — pre-COVID — ever had the time? New York is a city of runners or, at the very least, “power walkers.” Sanity walks require hours upon hours of leisure time and patience, to explore neighborhoods without any teleology, or, endpoint, in mind. COVID changed that.
I walked from Brooklyn to the edge of Queens. And across the Brooklyn Bridge, which is a marvel of design that was very popular during COVID. And the Manhattan Bridge (my preference), which is grittier and more working class, filled with graffiti and street art. Then — when in Manhattan —I walked into Tribeca and Soho and the West Village and parts beyond. I brought my cell and my headphones and listened to jazz and early classical music (before Bach!) — not podcasts — so as not to negate the best part of sanity walks: to see, to really see the neighborhoods.
One thing that really stood out to me, as a ground-level observer of neighborhoods during COVID, was the street art. I had been doing a street art Instagram for years before COVID, but the Plague was a Golden Age for Street Art — globally. So I began taking photos of the street art I encountered on a daily basis and putting it on Insta. I noticed many things. Some artists were really coming alive during lockdown. I had never seen the variety of art going on, on walls, on mailboxes, on any surface imaginable in theCcommons — including: in the case of artists like Persian Poet (one of my favorites) — on the literal surface of the street.
Some of my routes were frequented by certain street artists that I got to know. I learned things about the way they operated. They were territorial. They worked late at night or early in the morning to avoid detection by the authorities. They also seemed to be even more prolific than before, in the pre-COVID days. Some street artists — like, PhoebeNewYork (another favorite; see below) — could do a new piece, it seemed, every week. And I always looked forward to that, because, quite frankly, what else did I have to look forward to other than a new episode of my favorite podcasts during those dark days? What I liked about PhoebeNewYork is that her collages turned up every space my eyes rested during my sanity walks — lamp posts, mailboxes, buildings — sending empowering, optimistic messages, like “If you Never Try You Will Never Know,” “For the Thrill of It,” and “Yes I Can.”
PhoebeNewYork has now, in the post-COVID lacuna, become a respected visual artist, to my delight. Libby Schoettle — PhoebeNewYork’s alter ego — is an Upper East Sider employing collages of images and words from vintage fashion magazines, old photographs and books. I got to meet Libby briefly at WCC gallery, which is having a opening of her latest work in a few weeks:
I also love BiancaDoesNYC, who is a dreamy muralist:
And other collagists, like Priority Maul:
DivaDogLA is a street artists that uses his childhood dog as inspiration for art. Some of it is funny, if harsh:
A funny thing started happening when I began posting some of my favorite street artists with hashtags noting where they put up their work, like Freeman Alley, on my modest Insta account. They started sending me messages, thanking me, Insta(gating) conversation.
Right now, this one by Eraquario is my favorite. I love it because it involves Bjork and it makes her appear even more eccentric than she usually is:
Fast forward to: 2023, March. The intensity of COVID and the lockdowns has lessened, but my street art Instagramming has not. If you get a chance, follow me on Insta.
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