We’ve all been experiencing a run on toilet paper and hand sanitizer. But you may not be aware of the extreme shortages in portraits and fine art that are gripping the nation. People are falling over themselves to get the proper fix of meaning and inspiration, a glimpse of the eternal within the banal captivity brought on by isolation in quarantine.
The production of art has dramatically increased to keep up with the voracious demands for creativity and self expression. Those who may not be able to identify the cause of their malaise, are turning to drinking, argument and board games. Others realize what is missing, what has left them crazed with desire: it is a desperate need for art. They instinctively know what this historic moment has called them to do. They realize what they’d been missing all along, before the pandemic changed the world forever. People stare hopelessly at blank walls, wishing for something to stare and dare back at them, as the faces of despondent children, longing for something, anything to give them reason to go on living, glare expectantly at them. They know the only solution to being trapped in their barren confines, with those they no longer wish to know because knowing these same people, even those whom love once brought together, with whom they are stuck, day after day, the only release from this hell on Earth, is to plant the spark of freedom that only art provides.
The whines of “I’m bored,” echo through the searing familiarity of the prison they once called home. Once good, upstanding people, now are clambering at the gates, pitchforks and torches in hand, wishing for the vague imaginings of genius, stopping at nothing for a modicum of inspiration in a shrinking reality they once called normal. The nesting instinct has taken over and their house calls into the abyss to become a home. They have awoken to the only satisfactory response to their existential cries. They know that art is our link to freedom, where the impossible is still possible – while supplies last. Don’t be left in the wilderness of the mundane. Come to where the insane stays mainly in the train of thought far too difficult to explain.