Art Heals: Masks

Recently I have developed a routine for dressing in the morning.  On weekdays, I don my work attire—something colorful if the day is grey, or grey if the day is colorful. Rings, yes, bracelets no, (they interfere with my wrists on the keyboard).  I have long ago achieved détente between the warring factions of style vs. comfort, so that is not a factor.  Style, of course, but clever designers have realized that for stylish women comfort is vital too (and pockets!).  On weekends, as I spend more time outdoors (those 2-3-hour walks) a more elaborate couture is required, as I am now facing a rivalry never before felt, with all those cute birds flying around.  And always, of course, my most important tool of personal agency, lipstick.
But wait, as they say in the infomercials.  Now there is an addition to my habillement.  The mask.  Required now in DC for entry to grocery stores and other buildings, public transport, and even in our building’s mailroom, I wear a mask whenever I am outside my apartment, in general.  This is to protect others, I know, but since I am at a vulnerable age, I feel it protects me too, as healthy exercise means bobbing and weaving around coughing pedestrians on crowded sidewalks and heavy breathing joggers in the park.
Because I have had to adjust my maquillage--no more lipstick—I have come to depend upon those talented artist friends who are making masks to provide me with appropriately interesting ones to please that critic in the mirror. (Shout out to the artists using their talents to create masks not only for us, but who are generously donating them to health care workers and essential workers.  Artists always come through. Please support them by buying from their sites if you can.) 
So, naturally I started thinking about 17th-century French physician Charles de Lorme.  He designed a mask with a long beak, to be stuffed with sweet smelling flowers to combat the foul odors then associated with, you guessed it, the plague.  Popular among the doctors fighting the plague in Venice, they wore a white one with white gloves and a staff (so as to be able to move patients without having to come into physical contact with them). They hoped these precautions would prevent them contracting the disease.  In the 18th century, Venetian citizens ( men, at the time) were obliged by the government to wear a style called the bauta  while participating in  political decision making events, so as to ensure this  early version of the secret ballot. And another type, the volto, enabled both men and women to hide their identity and social status.  Thus, they could socialize with the “lower orders.” This resulted in a certain amount of criminal activity, but also a great deal of romantic encounters of the forbidden kind.
All this has made me think about the psychological implications of donning my daily mask.   Now that masks hark, ironically, back to their origins in combating pandemics, no longer associated with the delights of Halloween candy or Carnival beads, my mask takes on a different meaning in my presentation of myself, to the world, and to myself.  We have always worn masks, albeit invisible ones, as we move around in the world.  The mask of competence when we find ourselves challenged at work.  The mask of bravery when called upon to confront injustice.  The mask of knowledge when trying to combat ignorance.  The mask of charm when we are feeling insecure. 
Living in isolation, with only Facetime and Zoom available to us as we face the world in work and play, we are suddenly without the comfort of masks to get us through.   We must be ourselves.   The face we see in the mirror is the real us, and it is enough.
Masked in the beauty of calligraphy, here is a face by artist Manal Deeb. 
Art Heals.