My spirits take a nosedive if I haven’t left my house for a stretch of time. The COVID-19 restrictions don’t leave many options for leaving home. The grocery store and gas station don’t cut it.
As someone who loves the outdoors, I unsurprisingly have spent a lot of lockdown in nearby forest preserves and other natural spaces. Although the winter wind turns my face pink and toes numb, I’m still going outside.
Getting outside isn’t even optional for me. To keep sane, it’s an absolute must. Due to the pandemic, working remote, and sharing a house with 3 other roommates, I spend the bulk of my time in my rented bedroom.
There are some nice features to my room. I have plenty of possessions to keep me busy, a watercolor foraging calendar that makes me happy to look at, and occasional rays of light that dapple my bed…but, it’s not home.
My roommates are nice enough but still relative strangers. Being with them for days on end, makes their habits seem outrageous. Mind you, these are quirks that would otherwise go unnoticed if each of us were busy with our own lives.
When I’m here, there’s a subtle undertone of unease. I try my best not to give in to it, but when I’m tired and feeling a lack of agency, it’s deadening to my spirit. This feeling probably wouldn’t haunt me if all of us (my roommates and I) were going into work. I’d change my surroundings each day and have a few moments of privacy here and there. For now, however, I spend most of my time in this house, in this room.
The outdoors offers a chance to exhale.
Going outside to the same places frequently (I like the Arboretum and Knoch Knolls Park best) allows me to notice the details. Details like saprophytic fungi taking over a slender tree.
The fire-blackened stumps that stick out like monoliths against the white snow aren’t so difficult to notice. However, I have to tread a new path through the unbroken snow to take a closer look. Everyone else stays on the well-trampled trails.
The art museums are closed. But here there are still sculptures to admire.
Inside my own slow, monotonous personal decay is disheartening. But outdoors death and decay from fungi and fire that break down dead wood offers hope. We have to slough off the old to make room for and nourish the new.
Maybe there’s a part of me I could slough off to become a better, higher version of myself. I’m not vain enough to pretend there isn’t.
Some indoor spaces aren’t so bad. My boyfriend’s apartment offers relief from my cell-like bedroom and petty frustrations with my roommates. Here little gifts abound. Warm coffee and cozy jazz thaw my internal iciness that builds up during a week of working from home.
A stone’s throw away from his apartment is a little patch of hope. 3000 sq ft that will become my herb farm in the spring and summer. It’s covered by snow for now, but still there. Waiting but resting. A well-needed reminder that growth, while something to aspire to, is not possible at all times.
Film stock: Fujifilm Superia 400
My 2021 resolution: Film photos. Every month for 12 months.
I’m not yet sure how I’ll approach this project for the rest of the year but I’ll let it evolve organically. The only hard rule is that for every month of 2021, I will shoot one roll of 35mm film. I plan to complement the photos with a few words, but I will do my best to let the photos speak for themselves.