Art Heals: Lights

Tensions are rising as we complete yet another week of self-isolation.  Nerves are getting frayed.   The phrase “rubs me the wrong way” takes on new meaning as people sharing tight quarters collide in a jumble of laptops, spilled snacks, disinfecting wipes, pets and fingerprints on the refrigerator.  Those who live alone begin to question their sanity—is that cough or sniffle a sign of something worse?  Venturing out is less a pleasure than a trial by fire—will we make it home unscathed?  Is that passer-by, that jogger, that clerk, an unknowing carrier of the virus?  Did we get too close?  Weariness sets in.  How can there be so much dust when I hardly ever open the windows?  Home as refuge begins to take on the character of home as chicken coop.  Television and social media are less entertainment and more information overload.  All the good advice, all the coping strategies, make me want to scream.
OK, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I can go back to good advice. (Ha, you didn’t think I could write one of these blogs without advice, did you really?)
I recently heard a podcast featuring the philosopher Alain de Botton.  He expressed his advice on how to cope in a beautiful metaphor.  “Turn on the light in the room of your fears.”
Years ago, we moved to Holland for my husband’s job.  I left my job to join him in a lovely country called one of the “low countries” for a reason.  Sunlight was a precious commodity.  Many days I would turn on the lamps upon getting up in the darkness, turn them off for an hour or so around 2 pm, and then turn them on again until we went to sleep.  Until I found a job, I seldom left the apartment.  The lack of light began to seep into my soul. 
Luckily, I found Dutch friends who shared with me the national “coping strategy”—gezelligheid.  This is a special form of coziness that embraced the circumstances rather than rejecting them (or cursing the darkness.  Sorry, couldn’t help myself there.) Cafes suffused with sweet orange light, tables covered with miniature oriental carpets, little cheese snacks called borrel happjes  served with drinks at 4 pm,  tea service on trains.  And a copje caffe, a Dutch  ritual of delicious coffee, offered at any time to soothe and lighten the mood.
De Botton’s words reminded me of those days.  If we illuminate our  fears, shine a light on our unhappiness, it lets us name them, acknowledge their reality, and then gives us a moment to breathe and to find a way out of the darkness. Find a bit of coziness.  Turn on the light in the room of your fears.   It helps.
(Just for your information, the average number of hours of sunshine in Holland in January is under 50, but in May it is over 200.  Light!)
I offer a beautiful room, suffused with light, painted by the late Nabila Himli.  Art Heals.