Best of quarantine

BEST OF QUARANTINE

If you would have told me that the busy streets of New York City will be empty of people, that Time Square will have no tourists and that the Subway would be closed I’d say you are probably thinking of a Sci-Fi movie with Nicolas Cage.  But here we are, in the never-ending months of a world-wide pandemic that has brought us to a halt. As we all struggle, in our own way, during these times of uncertainty and fear, we are also trying to keep going and maintain what we know and most importantly what we love.

We are artists, photographers, and for us the best way to communicate is with our images. We make art during the good times and the bad times because that is all we know how to do, and we do it well.

This online collection of images and texts brings to light the struggles, the beauty, the humor, the sadness and everything in between during these times. Each artist has their way of capturing this moment in time and together we are forming an assortment of emotions, locations, people and art from all over.

We hope this online exhibition makes you feel good, even if for a brief moment, and know that there is a community of fellow photographers who are there for you and with you during it all.

Selected Artists / Alexander Lubomirskiy, Anamarija Podrebarac, Anaranya Basu, Arianna Lucas, Barbara Simmons, Barbara Strigel, Carissa Dorson, Charlie Zielinski, Corey Isenor, Daniel Bradley, Daria Nazarova, Diane Fenster, Diogo Ferreira, Elizabeth Coetzee, Emily Frances, Emily Porter, Emma Rose Milligan, Eric Kaczmarczyk, Eyal Tagar, Fe Mitikafe, Federica Bruni, Georgia Kontodimou, Georgia Matsamaki, Giacomo Alberico, Heather Binns, Heidi Temple, Tim Hodge, Jacob Weeks, Jacob Rivera, Jaime Alvarez, Kassidy Tingle, Kimmo Sahakangas, Lauren Grabelle, Lauren Roche, Lia Beta, Lindsay Godin, Lisa Guerriero, Loren Haar, MacKenzie Mercurio, Maeve Wallace, Manuel Espejel, Margeaux Walter, Marissa Iamartino, Mary Addison Hackett, Matthew Finley, Matthew Ludak, Max Foley, Meintani Iliana, Mia Kraitsowits-Pélage, Nancy Oliveri, Neil Kramer, Orfeas Sampatakakis, Reuben Radding, Romy Engel, Roslyn Julia, Caroline Ruffault, Sean Murray, Shari Marcacci, Sharon Draghi, Sheri Lynn Behr, Sofi Inglese, Stephen Olweck, Susan Rosenberg Jones, Susana Quevedo, Tony Salvagio, Tristan Martinez, Valeria Tomassini, Van Corona, Yael Nov

Contributing Writers / Francesco Scalici, Kelsey Sucena, Marissa Iamartino

I could even see this image as part of a satirical series, mocking the very existence of self-isolation.

Text by Francesco Scalici on Margeaux Walter’s Photo

Margeaux Walter, Deep Dive

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry”. Is probably one of my favourite expressions of all time. An expression that perfectly describes the confusion of feelings and how those feelings are manifested. Margeaux Walter’s piece ‘Deep dive’ is an amalgamation of this as it balances the idea of tragic comedy and harsh reality. The idea that quarantine can subject us to humorous forms of self-entertainment has resulted in images like ‘Deep Dive’, which tackle the overall emotions of escaping confinement in a very comical yet somewhat saddened way. This image has to be one of my all-time favourites when it comes to interpreting isolation because of its outlandishness in subject matter, coupled with the fact that it represents for many of us things that we miss doing.

‘Deep Dive’ is not a deep dive at all, a title given to mock the very action of snorkelling in deep waters. A photograph which is very reminiscent of the works of Wes Anderson and films such as ‘The Life Aquatic’, with the tonality and aesthetic of the image as if pulled from one of his frames. I could even see this image as part of a satirical series, mocking the very existence of self-isolation.

The action of Purell/Glove/Purell on-top is one of muscle memory, but it leaves a horrifying smell that lingers on your hands for weeks. Sweat, dead flesh, alcohol, and hot air.

Text by Marissa Iamartino

I am convinced that hospitals are their own biospheres: spaces that completely shift outside cultural norms for the benefit of their communities. Everything is controlled: Time is different, food is without salt, personal boundaries disappear, cleanliness standards are through the roof. It’s a space where I learned to call everyone “Friend” -- as “Patient” would put me on-par with doctors and nurses, and the goal was for the children to be able to differentiate me from the doctors and nurses. For the same reason, I wandered the hospital in plain clothes. I was, in a way, an anti-hierarchical member of the community. From the outside, I could’ve been a visitor, a friend, a psychologist, a patient, a doctor, a student. Nobody really knew. It was like being a ghost, not fitting into the archetype of the caretaker or the cared-for.

We were never raised to use Purell in my household, as my father was convinced that too much “clean” would prevent our immune systems from thriving, but for years, that sludge became an ever present film on my hands. I never use it now, but as the Covid-19 pandemic exploded in early March, I found myself on the J train of the MTA, really wishing I had some. Weeks later, I walked through our local grocery store surrounded by strangers in masks and gloves, and felt a strange ping of familiarity. It was oddly comforting, thinking “I’ve been here before” -- until I witnessed eight people wear their gloves to their cars. My clean-room procedure alarms were screaming: “THROW THEM AWAY BEFORE YOU EXIT THE ROOM”.

Others are simply glorified plastic bags, trapping heat and sweat so that when you sit in a patient’s room for an hour, you come out looking like you’ve run a marathon.

Some hospital gowns are made from a soft, felt-like material that’s easy to rip. Others are simply glorified plastic bags, trapping heat and sweat so that when you sit in a patient’s room for an hour, you come out looking like you’ve run a marathon. Gloves are similar -- some thick and comfortable, like sticking your hands into sponges, and others are like unlubricated condoms. The action of Purell/Glove/Purell on-top is one of muscle memory, but it leaves a horrifying smell that lingers on your hands for weeks. Sweat, dead flesh, alcohol, and hot air.

A few months ago, I was volunteering for the Bernie Sanders campaign, and I recall one specific conversation with a concerned parent. They claimed they were planning to vote for Trump even though they hated him, solely because Bernie would never loosen vaccination laws. This person “feared for the lives of their children” - as I am sure most parents do - but I kindly said to this man: “Would you be interested in learning about Bernie’s position on Global Warming?”. He replied, “Well...I hadn’t thought of that as the same type of threat.”

Marissa Iamartino

My aim is not to point a finger at this person, it’s more-so to draw attention to the idea that we are sometimes forced to create hierarchies for our beliefs. But I wonder, how do our surrounding communities and structures influence those belief-structures? Did this person have a traumatic experience in healthcare? Are they fearful of losing their autonomy? Are they fearful of government? Have they grown up with a religion that doesn’t believe in vaccines?

Our beliefs often have tangible, first-hand experiences behind them. Global warming however, may be such a large topic that a person has been unable to experience it first-hand, leaving them unable to develop an emotional response. So how can we create a community experience that can teach people to hate waste and pollution the same way we teach people to hate ‘getting a shot’?

Nature is selfish, but it is also allowed to be selfish because while its destructiveness is immense and powerful, nature has ways of telling us things are going to be ok.

Text by Francesco Scalici on Eric Kaczmarczyk’s Photo

Eric Kaczmarczyk:, Satellite Blooming, April 5th, 2020

‘Satellite Blooming’. Nature does not wait, although nature is patient is does not play by our rules, it does not stop for anything or anyone and is completely unpredictable and inconsiderate. Nature is selfish, but it is also allowed to be selfish because while its destructiveness is immense and powerful, nature has ways of telling us things are going to be ok. ‘Satellite Blooming’ demonstrates the uncontrollable and simultaneously beautiful force of nature.

The colours of a simple pink cherry Blossom tree can inspire us to continue moving forward, no matter how interruptive it may be. Nature can discover new and obscure ways to adorn your home and fill your surroundings with life and growth, now more than ever we can choose to accept nature and allow it to fill our lives with simplicity and hope. ‘Satellite blooming’ is a beautiful interpretation of the inconsiderateness of nature and how we have to accept it because it’s just too perfect to interrupt or force any kind of change.

A depiction of our ability to cook in today’s current economic situation and how we chose to adapt and change our process of consuming food

/ Text by Francesco Scalici on Romy Engel’s Photo

Romy Engel, Practicing Imperfections

For most of us Quarantine presents a challenge, the idea that take away foods, eating at your local restaurant and not having to cook as often is put on hold. And while binging quick treats has become a real problem Romy Engel’s ‘Practicing - Imperfections’ details the current increase of home cooking. For many of us cooking can be a scary experience, it presents challenges that can directly affect our health if an element is incorrectly prepared. Others may see cooking as a tedious process and lack the creative incentive to experiment.

What I find interesting about ‘Practicing imperfections’ is how Romy has presented us with an altered version of food photography. The image itself incorporates objects that may have already been used and does not rely on composition to highlight a finished product, but rather attempts to discuss a ‘work in progress’. ‘Practicing imperfections’ is exactly what it’s supposed to be. A depiction of our ability to cook in today’s current economic situation and how we chose to adapt and change our process of consuming food.

Hey, this place is beautiful and I want to share some of it with you. It was our last communication.

Text by Kelsey Sucena

I’ve only made a single photograph since the quarantine began, and I regret to admit that I made it in the foothills of Appalachia, and not, as per my social obligation, within the confines of the room I call home. There, just five days before, my father texted me a photograph from that same spot, atop a small unnamed mountain in the property adjacent to his own. In his photograph, a sun sets silently beneath a quiet blue ridge of metamorphic, precambrian stone. His was less a photograph, and more a friendly note. Hey, this place is beautiful and I want to share some of it with you. It was our last communication.

I’ve tried to avoid responding to the quarantine thus far, if only because I fear that reactionary impulse which we all anxiously tend to by way of our phones and facebook feeds. I can’t imagine looking honestly to anyone and saying that these are the best of times. There is already so much sadness everywhere. I worry that in our rush to condemn, to demarcate, and to name the awful things which are present before us, that we may lose sight of each other. I worry that our notes and photographs risk falling on deaf ears.

My Father died suddenly four days later, on the morning of his 29th anniversary. We broke quarantine in a rush to my mothers side. Crying with her, atop that mountain I searched desperately for the trees which framed his message, placing my cell phone within that same space where he once held his. My photograph is gloomier, colder, bluer. There is a thick front of dark clouds obscuring the setting of the sun.