Self-Portraits of the Apocalypse: Shelter-in-Place

By Sarah Soward

Self-Portraits of the Apocalypse: Shelter-in-Place 2020 started out as a drawing journal on my blog to help keep my head above water when coronavirus lockdown began. It became an illustrated journey through dealing with isolation during a pandemic. While my world burned, I wrote and made digital art cartoons about coping mechanisms

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Soward
• Release date: Oct 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780985964207

Sarah Soward

I accidentally wrote a book. That's how my life goes, though. I fall into things and end up reveling in them while learning as much as I can. This isn't the first time I've written a book or participated in book writing. It was intentional before this. Somehow, this method was more enjoyable. The final outcome seems more useful too. It's a combination of things I love doing: art, design, and writing. It feels like home.

Book preview

Introduction

Seven hundred eighty-eight square feet.

I don’t think that includes our balcony, but I could be wrong.

It could also be seven hundred seventy-three square feet, but that sounds worse—and I don’t want worse. I’m going with my first number.

My husband and I usually spend a lot of time with either one or both of us out and about. I can usually be found at my art studio, quietly working away with my headphones blocking out as much of the rest of the world as possible, while he’s holding down the fort in our seven hundred eighty-eight square feet.

Or maybe I’m at home while he’s off in the wilderness of a corporate Southern California office building, doing his thing. Or perhaps we’re walking, eating out, staring at animals, finding friends, or generally doing whatever together. I don’t know. I’m beginning to not remember.

You see, we still aren’t done sheltering in place.

A pink-haired woman in a striped skirt and a purple cropped sweater with a claret-colored tank top underneath stands on the left side of the image looking down at a floating Earth that is on fire. The text on the image reads, Day 1 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020 I was determined not to re-enter the oubliette of clinical depression. The disaster was outside me. I was dressing for the party I wanted to be. I felt a little ridiculous and that felt like home—or maybe hope. Yes, I was leaning away from the world on purpose. No, that wasn’t really a smile. Indeed, I was barefoot.

Shelter-in-Place: Day 1

March 20, 2020

Day 1 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020

I was determined not to re-enter the oubliette of clinical depression.

The disaster was outside me. I was dressing for the party I wanted to be. I felt a little ridiculous and that felt like home—or maybe hope.

Yes, I was leaning away from the world on purpose.

No, that wasn’t really a smile.

Indeed, I was barefoot.

I was okay. I was going to be okay, I knew I was. This project would be a large part of how I managed that.

During our collective, yet separated, attempts to get through the coronavirus pandemic, I chose to learn how to use a new piece of digital drawing equipment. Luckily, I had some foresight and ordered it weeks ago, finally giving it my first try today; it was an interactive drawing screen, a monitor that I could hook up to my computer and then digitally draw or paint on directly with a specialized stylus.

Sure, it was going to take a little getting used to, but in a good way. For the foreseeable future, I knew I wouldn’t be able to use my oil paints, so this new method would be essential.

Oils had always been my favorite painting medium—and still are—and so I’d created almost all my artwork in oils for years. Of course, with the Shelter-in-Place order in effect as of midnight last night, I would no longer be able to work in the reasonably ventilated art studio outside of my cute little home.

I could not paint in oils in my home as there was not enough room for paintings to off-gas safely. So I scooped up whatever I thought would be useful, safe, productive—and fun—from my studio last night and brought it all home. Most of it was still in the back of my car, however, which was also cute and little.

One step at a time. That was all I could do.

You see, I recently spent a significant amount of time climbing out of a very deep depression. I refer to it as the oubliette. What was once only a pinhole of sunlight, had finally blossomed into a glorious, full sky with clouds, rain, birds, and the odd helicopter. (I live in a city. Helicopters happen.) But all of that was now in jeopardy. In the middle of the night, I woke myself up from a nightmare I refuse to remember and decided there was no way I was going to let all that progress and joy slip away again. I found myself thinking about all the memes I had seen lately, ones with people comparing their comfortably pajama-ed selves to their Mad Max or Tank Girl expectations of their apocalypse wardrobes.

Right then and there, I realized something important: If I stayed enshrouded in my jammies, regardless of peacock pattern, penguin print, or hardware store logos, I would soon find myself right back in that dark place, fighting a losing battle against my mind…again.

I didn’t want to lose.

I wouldn’t lose.

So, sometime around 4:34 a.m., I resolved to dress in all the things I loved and liked, including things I would hardly ever wear because I didn’t have appropriate places to wear them anymore. I decided that The Plague Times—or Apocalypse 2020 or Pandemic Nation, or whatever we were calling this Shelter-at-Home thing we were all mandated to do—was a once-in-a-lifetime event (hopefully).

And what did we wear to once-in-a-lifetime events? Whatever we wanted!

I also determined that I needed to share all this somehow. Putting photos of myself out there on the internet for all to see was not (and is never going to be) something I enjoy, so that was out. And I was known to firmly state, I don’t paint people.

Well. There goes that, I thought as I started my first self-portrait and decided to tell you all about it.

On this, my first day of Shelter-in-Place in 2020, my outfit included a super-soft roasted eggplant-colored chenille sweater that I think I bought at a store called Garage. It was like wearing a gentle hug. A comfy claret-colored tank top was layered underneath—tank tops were a staple in my closet. Then there was the skirt; you need more detail about that.

I picked this skirt up in San Francisco at one of the San Francisco Opera’s excess and old costume sales. It was striped, raw silk or rayon, somewhat variegated, and it gently caressed the ground as I walked. Being a bit longer in the back, it trailed subtly—a good skirt, but not for wandering about outside.

And before you think I’m all fancy-pants (admittedly a little schmancy sometimes, but that’s all I’ll give you), I waited in line for hours and even enjoyed most minutes of it. I texted friends, chatted with strangers, and was delighted when one of those strangers cut a few hours off my time in line when they gave up and gifted me their entry ticket for an earlier time slot. That gift made the remaining hours fly! Once inside, I came across this skirt by digging through racks and racks of random gloriousness, and even had to finish off the waistband and closures myself. This meant it wasn’t expensive at all because it was unfinished; chorus peeps didn’t always have the luxury of zippers, it seemed!

Anyway, I adored this skirt mostly because of all the memories of that day, because of the queuing, the gift of the early entry, and the delightful and ever-surprising rummage through endless garment racks. So, every time I wore this skirt, I’d get to think of exploring and kindness, and of scavenger hunting in a city I loved.

Right now, I needed to remember every good day I could, in all its detail. This situation was hard for everyone. We would all cope in different ways. This was one way that I could carry myself through the impending bleakness.

I didn’t know if I’d be doing this same sort of thing tomorrow or not. I also didn’t even know if this would help me tomorrow or not. But for now, the memories this outfit elicited and the process of sharing them meant not even one of my pinky toes would hit the edge of that oubliette

A woman wearing a tan sunhat over her pink hair jumps up in forward punch-kick, pink sneakers out, yellow dress and bee print socks at angles while her extra long striped shirt flies behing her. The text on the image reads, Day 2 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020 I had to go outside today. My car battery was dying. A prescription was ready. It was unavoidable. So, I made the best of it. If they could see me, they could avoid me, right?

Shelter-in-Place: Day 2

March 21, 2020

Day 2 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020

I had to go outside today. My car battery was dying. A prescription was ready. It was unavoidable. So, I made the best of it.

If they could see me, they could avoid me, right?

My goal when I went out today was to avoid and be avoided in the most pleasant way possible. So, I present you with pink shoes encasing my favorite bee knee socks, a double-layer yellow knit dress with a fun striped shirt/dress/jacket/cape, and a sun hat—because my paleness was real.

Going outdoors had been a struggle for quite a while, but I didn’t come here to talk about that. While the relief of people supposedly agreeing to stay six feet away from me (and each other) was amazing, the reality of social distancing was not quite as awe-inspiring. We were doing what we were willing, and that is, at least, something.

At the auto repair shop, I chatted with the lady at the front desk. She was always nice to me. When I pulled out my own pen to sign the battery replacement documents, she shared with me how most people were being really great with her and the mechanics by keeping their distance from all of them and being respectful of their personal health precautions.

Once my battery was replaced, I headed to the pharmacy where I was assisted by the pharmacist with the most amazing hair. Picture dark locks done up into ’40s retro liberty rolls with tasteful jewel toned highlights and matching cat-eye glasses. Perfection!

This pharmacy had a rather involved system utilizing plexiglass, cleaning spray, and hand sanitizer, to keep their employees safe at the counter, and blue taped lines on the floor to remind customers to stay six feet apart while we waited in line. I appreciated it. I even liked it. Having said this, I still hoped that all this would be over by the next time I visited with my pharmacy peeps. If not, I had more knee socks.

A pink-haired woman stands precariously on one leg in amazing curved platform ankle boots on a tight rope that isn't tight. Tiny rhinos are lined up on the rope to support her. Her black dress flares out from her movement, and she's tossing herself a chocolate. The text on the image reads, Day 3 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020 At 11:34 a.m., I was still in my pajamas in bed. I realized that I was sinking. So, I took steps. I looked back to another huge life change and put on a very specific black dress. I arranged my rhinos in a line on my windowsill. I stress-ate a lot of chocolate. Happiness is precarious. Today was not easy.

Shelter-in-Place: Day 3

March 22, 2020

Day 3 of (?): Shelter-in-Place 2020

At 11:34 a.m., I was still in my pajamas in bed. I realized that I was sinking. So, I took steps.

I looked back to another huge life change and put on a very specific black dress. I arranged my rhinos in a line on my windowsill.

I stress-ate a lot of chocolate.

Happiness is precarious.¹ Today was not easy.

The seven-year-old in me wanted to shout, Holy smokes! The forty-something-year-old that I was now felt relieved that I had started doing these drawings. They were proving to be more supportive than I anticipated, and I was grateful to possess the tools to do this.

So what happened? I had no idea. I only knew that today was rough, and I fought back. I was trying not to dwell.

I got out of bed. I put down my smartphone games. I took a shower and wracked my brain about what to do about my state of mind. Then I remembered that I still had my first battle dress.

When I was eighteen, I moved myself back to San Francisco from the place the Army had last plunked my family. I slept on a friend’s futon in their living room while trying to sort out a future. I bought my very first designer dress then, and it gutted me a little. It was so much money, but it was beautiful. And most importantly, it made me feel strong.

This might have been the day I worked out exactly how to justify buying expensive things; this was by whether or not I thought I would get one use of ‘the thing’ for every dollar spent. It’s been over twenty years since I invested in that dress, and I’m happy to say that I have definitely worn it more than eighty-six times. It’s still in phenomenal shape. All eighty-six of those dollars were well spent at the time. Thank you, Betsey Johnson of the ’90s! Thank you for your quality, for your fitted slip, and your flowery, burnout velvet! Thank you for making me feel like a pretty-pretty warrior! (That’s a Barbarella reference. And no, I’m not apologizing for it.)

There were years when I almost let my battle dress go. My weight fluctuates—a lot, at times. Between endometriosis and Hashimoto’s thyroiditis, it’s been an interesting task trying to keep myself clothed over the years. But the