Cover Me: a visual essay

I live in Brooklyn, New York. Right now, like many other New Yorkers and people all over the world, I am inside, wondering what outside will look like tomorrow and the next day and the next.

As an artist, I respond the only way I know how, through art. By making portraits of the people I encounter on the near-empty streets of my neighborhood. To me, a face covered by a medical mask will never be a familiar enough sight to just walk past and not feel like there is something really really wrong with this world.

Mainly, what struck me most, without noses and mouths visible, was the expression in people's eyes. I saw anger, sadness, fear, anxiety, confusion, humor. All of humanity condensed in the organ of sight which is the only thing we can really communicate with nowadays. How long will it last? A couple more weeks? Months? And how will all this distancing effect us in the future when there is no virus?

As New Yorkers know, staying 6 feet away from another person is virtually impossible. I wanted to illustrate that as well. The sheer absurdity and dire necessity of it.

Somehow I think seeing it in a drawing has a different effect than seeing it in a photo or in reality. It somehow sinks in that this is our reality for the time being.

This is not anything I ever thought I'd experience in my lifetime. It's sad that terms like "social distancing" and "self-quarantine" are now words we actually say and will probably be added to the dictionary.

At the same time, this forced solitary confinement has made me live completely and utterly in the present moment. There truly is no other moment. And the only thing I plan are my lunches and dinners. Everyday. I find comfort in making food. Nourishing myself.

With this small series, I hope to draw awareness to the situation in New York. It's frustrating to sit here on my couch typing on my laptop and not be able to do something about the thousands in hospitals and the 365 dead. That's one for every day of the year.

It's hard not to think that I or someone I know or love may contract this thing, may die from it. It's a reality, morbid a thought as it is. But I don't want to live in denial. That's one thing this pandemic has taught me.

If you're reading this, I hope you're safe and well. And I hope that you will take a moment to pass along this post to as many people as you can. It's important to me. It may make a difference. I don't know...

Love,
Charlotte

Photos from my wall of portraits at Roots Cafe, Brooklyn