Art and Isolation: A Guest Blog Post by Scott Ketcham

So already, the other day I suggested to my husband, Scott Ketcham, that he create a kind of pandemic-era artist's statement to share along with his paintings at his open studios on Saturday, November 20 and Sunday, November 21. With his permission, I share it with you today, knowing that however we've filled our own hours during the last year and a half, the pandemic has had some effect on it. So here is "Art and Isolation" by Scott Ketcham.

As life lurches back to normal maybe, I can reflect on the lockdown and what it was like to make my art in isolation. I really should say, in more isolation than before Covid—because I have long sought and needed solitude. My art flourishes in sequestration. I am no outlier here. So many artists, especially visual artists, poets, novelists, playwrights, composers—those who need head space to conjure from a world within—crave seclusion (collaborative/ performing artists might experience creativity more communally). I am so fortunate to say that the lockdown was much less discouraging to me than to most other people. 

And yet, this sequester felt different to me, eerie, grim, murky. Safety demanded unending vigilance. Humanity responded to the threat with politics of confusion. The hum of a world pulsating outside my cloister fell silent. I have come to realize how that pulse feeds my creativity, that I rely upon a safe and sane world to a greater extent than previously I would have admitted. This recluse needs assurance that the world outside is alive and well. My isolation felt more forced than self-imposed. As is my way, when I encounter something incomprehensible, I turn inward to comprehend it. 

It must seem oddly disingenuous—that an artist fixated upon the human image would play the hermit. But, as you look at this body of work you will see figures wrestling alone with something—some stuff, some environment, some inner force, perhaps their selves. They are solitary and self-contained, like me. Engaged intently but not interpersonally. And never lonely. My figures have always been this way; but after more than a year in lockdown, they are even more insular. The few who make eye contact appear unapproachable. I cannot possibly separate my own broodings from the actions of these apparitions in my paintings and drawings. It is ironic that all art (figurative art most disconcertingly) embodies presence and absence simultaneously. Though a human presence is suggested here, in fact there is none—merely colored chemicals smeared across a flat surface. If art can perform its magic, perhaps you will come away with some whiff of humanity despite its absence. Indeed, after a stretch where all of us experienced absence. 

Quarantine from March 2020 to June 2021 found my studio’s routine interrupted, the enigmatic relationship between artist and model suspended. I regard my imaginative, innovative, soulfully beautiful models as genuine collaborators in shaping my art. I guess I am not so insular after all. I relied on sketches, photographs, memory, outright invention—and Zoom! A resourceful model suggested it, so we did it—held life sessions via video conference. It had its ups and downs (web cams unavoidably mediate perceptual experience) but it was something, and it was fun. It was also a small way I could help those in the gig economy hit hardest by the freeze. A friend introduced me to a group out of Scotland likewise holding life sessions on Zoom with artists and models from all over the world. Many of my recent drawings were thus executed during video sessions. Additionally, my studio became my Zoom classroom for teaching painting and drawing for 3 ½ semesters. The results surpassed my expectations—mostly due to the determination of my Massasoit college students. We have been too quick to underestimate the grit of young people during this upending moment.

This era is nowhere near as challenging as others during which art nonetheless flourished. Someday I might see a lasting effect on culture, on me. For now, I am grateful to be able to keep working at my craft; as long as I can do that, life will be normal enough. Looking about me, I see that art is thriving. It is a force with momentum no pandemic can stop. Art endures.