Artists and Grief…
This post discusses grief and loss. Please take care as you read.
Like most people I know, I’m grappling with the challenging events of the last month. The current state of the world ignites a lot of feelings. I’ve felt numb, angry, fired up, resolute, hopeful, and lost. But what I’ve felt most of all is grief.
Grief is a loss that disrupts our lives. It lights up our stress responses, impacts our immune system, throws off our sleep, makes it hard to focus, to think, to feel. Grief is a profoundly human experience, one that comes in waves and swells.
It’s also pretty common in the arts. Not only in the stories that we tell, there’s also the grief of creating in a culture that does not value that creation. It feels like every week there’s a new article out about how the arts are dying, how there’s no funding, how our favorite companies are sunsetting…
And this is in addition to the collective grief that we are still processing from the (ongoing) pandemic. How many theaters or projects did we lose? How many colleagues were out of work or left the biz? How many artists did we say goodbye to?
It’s easier to point to these larger losses. It’s much harder to acknowledge the daily grief we artists experience. The daily ongoing disruptions that are part and parcel of our careers. The rejections, not getting that job or callback, our work being tabled or cancelled or stuck in development, saying goodbye to roles or shows that we can no longer be a part of…
Woof. That’s a lot.
Even just naming these losses, our bodies respond. Writing these words, I feel my muscles getting heavy and my thoughts murky. Did you notice any shifts while reading?
Similar to how talking about stress can stress us out, acknowledging grief can bring us down. Yet when we are able to name what we are experiencing, we can better understand ourselves. And when we better understand ourselves, then we can take effective action.
Coping with grief is an incredibly personal and often private process. One person might turn to social supports or community, another to exercise or nature, another to a spiritual practice, talk therapy, writing, hobbies, organizing, or all of the above. What helps one person ride the waves of grief, may not help another, so I don’t want to be too prescriptive here.
One thing that we all can do is settle our stress responses. Remember, grief activates our nervous system; it can send us into a rage, make us need to escape, or shut us down. It stresses our bodies, so if that stress isn’t helping us get through, we can ground using tools and practices. Grounding, even just a little bit, allows us to access some spaciousness, lightness, and ease.
All we are doing here is responding to our present state, which is different than processing the grief or telling the story. It takes time (and support) to fully integrate any major disruption in our lives, even the good ones. And as we work on that integration, we can also work on what is directly in front of us: how our body is responding. In tough times, even a small glimmer, a small shift of settling may provide us relief. Those glimmers are our lighthouses.
Next, we can be mindful of why we practice. What is our intention with practicing? To release fully and completely? I know for myself this past month, riding the swells, I was craving a one and done, seeking a big final release. Yet no release will be final if the conditions of the swell are still present.
Instead, what if we scale down to something more achievable? A slight deepening of our breath, an light loosening of our muscles, a widening of our peripheral vision? When we notice and value these small subtle shifts, we can center ease, safety, and comfort.
And although they might not be as satisfying as that big cathartic release, they are more sustainable. Not only because these small practices teach us to recover as we go, but also because they’re easier to add to our daily lives. A 2-minute tool here, a 30 second practice there, those are way more accessible than an hour-long breath workshop or a weekend retreat. Cheaper too!
Lastly, when in a swell, we can up the frequency of our practices. This may feel counterintuitive, yet when intensity increases, smaller more frequent practices can help us stabilize faster and for longer. So if we’re practicing 10 minutes once a day, try two 5-minute tools, or even five 2-minute tools throughout the day. No amount of time is too small, and sometimes just remembering a tool can give us relief.
Life is objectively hard right now. The life of an artist is hard. It can be incredibly isolating, especially in grief. There will always be waves and swells, just as much as there will always be celebrations and joys. My hope in naming this grief is that we all feel a little less alone and that we remember the tools and practices that help us come home to ourselves. We can ride out the waves and we can sit with others as they do the same.
Wishing you ease, strength, and care.