Emily van Lidth de Jeude

Yesterday was Earth Day, which we ignored for most of the day, since we were busy with a bunch of important things, among them my partner Markus' work where he makes software for various land-based companies. Some of them are supposedly environmental companies; some are resource extraction companies, and one even has plans to log our home. But never mind. It's a good solid job and gives him employment and financial security in a time where there's not much security to go around. The bosses even took huge pay-cuts to keep from having to lay off employees like Markus. And besides. We live in a wooden house with glass windows, appliances and a car, and we need those resource extraction companies to supply the raw materials for these things. So last night at the end of Earth Day, Markus and I snuggled up in our cozy foam bed and down quilt, with a cup of imported fair-trade hot chocolate with instant factory milk, set our nifty black laptop on our knees, and watche...

Photo: Adrian van Lidth de Jeude A lot of my artist life consists of writing proposals to send to organizations, curators, and gallerists who, if they have time to look at them at all, will likely not respond. But I persevere because I have a studio full of work, and a mind full of plans, and this is me . I can't just stop. Everything I see, think or feel is an opportunity to reach out - to share and communicate and open eyes and touch hearts. Then coronavirus struck, and I found myself struggling to create anything at all, never mind make proposals. What is the point, when galleries are closing everywhere, and the internet is stalling like an old beater with the mad flood of people viewing livestreams and open operas and online exhibitions. Most of the live events I've tried to watch with my isolated kids failed due to server overload. Why go to my studio and create art that nobody will ever see? I asked my daughter this question one dismal day when she generously offer...