By Carolyn Sandoval, Chloe Cassidy, Donna Hoke, Jeffrey K. Johnson

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

FRACTURED

It’s been nearly four years since we’ve felt such extremes. Anxiety. Stupidity. Complacency. Fear. Death. Anxiety. Complacency. Fear. Death. This should have been different. This should not have created divides between “this is really inconvenient” and “I just lost a son and husband,” between sold out shallots and sold out sympathy cards. We’re beyond fractured. There is gnawing fear of exposure but clawing fear of what has been exposed. And staying inside becomes not just sheltering in place, but also sheltering from the divide, sheltering in the only stillness.

— Donna Hoke (East Amherst, New York)

* * *

NO HEROES HERE

Shelter in place, I’m told. COVID-19 is here. I button up my stiff white dress shirt and throw on a muted-color suit. I’m one of the privileged few that get to leave the house every day. I’m one of the people they don’t talk about on the news. In a footnote maybe, they mention the number of deaths. They never mention me. I am on the frontlines but don’t qualify for hero status. I’m called. I respond. I am always responding. At least I have N95 masks now. I may have been exposed. I could be next.

— Jeffrey K. Johnson (Pineville, Louisiana)

* * *

INSPIRATION

“Have a good day,” I tell my partner as I kiss her goodbye and head to work in the makeshift office in the dining room downstairs. I am grateful that it’s my day to Zoom all day where the comfortable office chair is located. Achy from weeks of staring at my computer screen, filled with my colleagues’ faces (and their pets and kids in the background on good days), I settle in and breathe a sigh of gratitude for the privilege of working alongside inspiring people, and within reach of hummingbirds and blooms that hang out on the patio.

— Carolyn Sandoval (Solana Beach, California)

* * *

ODE TO GAIA

She is healing, but she needs our help. Her body has been ravaged by bushfires so furious they left her hollow. Floods of emotion swept through her outer edges, and afterwards burnt remnants of the fires washed up onto the shores. I discovered these fragile pieces left to slowly weather away, as the passers-by are now kept at a distance. I tend to the pieces as if I can mend and heal each through repair and reverie. The pieces are renewed. They awaken the senses once more. Gaia is beginning again. We are all in stages of healing.

— Chloe Cassidy (Sydney, NSW, Australia)

(Top photo: Healing and reverie.)

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This series is edited by Thomas Peterson. One of the editors of Artists & Climate Change, he is also a theatre director and researcher whose work focuses on the climate crisis.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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By Brooke St. George, David Caudle, Michelle Kuen Suet Fung, Sarah Fisk

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

MORNING MOURNING

I wake to the sound of chainsaws. Outside my window, on the street behind our house, is a man in a tree, trimming it, but what is that in the street? Peeking over my back fence I see an old oak, illegally felled by our new neighbors, and burst into tears.

Nothing will bring the oak back. Nothing will bring back the lives we’ve lost, or my 95-year-old grandmother, who died alone because we couldn’t visit the nursing home.

I stand alone in my backyard, in my pajamas and the bright morning sun, and mourn for the world.

— Brooke St. George (Tempe, Arizona)

* * *

IS IT TIME?

Not too long ago, when this last guy first became President, my favorite (and only) sister called me. “Don’t laugh and don’t tell anyone I asked you this,” she said, “but do you think it’s time to move to Canada?” I said I didn’t think so. The idea scared me. It scared me to hear it come from her. Today I want to call her. My work is almost gone. The economy is crumbling. I want to ask her, “Is it time now? Australia, maybe?” But I know what she’ll say, “No, Sweetpea, we can’t. We can’t go anywhere.”

— Sarah Fisk (Berkeley, California)

* * *

QUARANTINE ARTIST RESIDENCY

In 2020, I lose gigs and gain more time. I make less money and more art. Instead of battling crowds on trains and buses, I sink in my couch of clouds and hungrily glean through books that weigh like rocks, neglected previously not by choice but by lack of time. Instead of making do with constant disruptions of life by necessity, I relish these long days where I indulge in nothing but my own art and research. I no longer remember what day of the week it is. This silky creative thread unbroken by errands and money. A quarantine artist residency.

— Michelle Kuen Suet Fung (Hong Kong)

(Top photo: Working from home is great.)

* * *

SELF-ISOLATING, WITH TREES

My cottage north of town borders wetlands protected by law (so far), and woods I love to walk. But Nature’s debris can trip you up. Especially if you focus on the canopies. (No crown shyness here. These trees don’t social distance.) Spent six days of quarantine clearing fallen branches. On the seventh, a storm threw down new ones. Like Sisyphus, I’ve got nothing but time. But hospitals are the new Hades. Health workers roll out one patient, Rona delivers two more. Me, I’m unemployed and high risk. All I can do is wander these woods. Five, six, pick up sticks.

— David Caudle (Putnam Valley, New York)

______________________________

This series is edited by Thomas Peterson. One of the editors of Artists & Climate Change, he is also a theatre director and researcher whose work focuses on the climate crisis.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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By Peterson Toscano

The Climate Stew Players present Survivor Generations 2165, an original radio drama. Turns out television programs of the future will be obsessed with the past. Hear the story of Yuri Ivanovich Petrov. As a boy, he survived the infamous 900-day siege of Leningradduring World War II. Though he experienced unimaginable hardships, he also developed inventive ways to survive. The lessons he learned during the greatest crisis of his generation can help give us hope and guidance for our own.

That winter siege nearly destroyed the city and its emaciated inhabitants. But, miraculously, many survived. Speaking of that desperate first winter of the 900-day siege, poet Olga Bergholz wrote:

That winter death looked straight into our eyes and stared long, without faltering. It wanted to hypnotize us, like a boa constrictor hypnotizes its intended victim, stripping him of his will and subjugating him. But those who sent us so much death miscalculated. They underestimated our voracious hunger for life.

Based on archival interviews from actual survivors of the siege, the Climate Stew Players weave true stories into the life of young Yuri. Learn about the resiliency and the determination of the women, children, and elderly who had to find ways to survive in spite of all the odds against them.

The Climate Stew Players use storytelling, comedy, and character-driven short radio dramas to explore climate change and human rights.

Segment music by Skaj Da Waidah, Sean Pope Domeneko, Raúl Díaz Palomar, and J. Buckner.

Next month, creative non-fiction writer, Elizabeth Rush reveals how seeing a stage adaptation to her award winning book, Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore, helped her see her own climate grief in a whole new light.

If you like what you hear, you can listen to full episodes of Citizens’ Climate Radio on iTunes, Stitcher Radio, Spotify, SoundCloud, Podbean, Northern Spirit Radio, Google Play, PlayerFM, and TuneIn Radio. Also, feel free to connect with other listeners, suggest program ideas, and respond to programs in the Citizens’ Climate Radio Facebook group or on Twitter at @CitizensCRadio.

This article is part of The Art House series.

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As host of Citizens’ Climate Radio, Peterson Toscano regularly features artists who address climate change in their work. The Art House section of his program includes singer/songwriters, visual artists, comics, creative writers, and playwrights. Through a collaboration with Artists and Climate Change and Citizens’ Climate Education, each month Peterson reissues The Art House for this blog. If you have an idea for The Art House, contact Peterson: radio @ citizensclimatelobby.org

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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By Chloe Lunn, Denise Kenney, Michael Silver, Wanda Kolomyjec

Reader-submitted stories of the COVID-19 pandemic, in no more than 100 words. Read past stories here. Submit your own here.

HOGANS AND HANDKERCHIEFS

I cut 9″ x 12″ cotton first. 6″ x 9″ mesh next. 7″ elastic for the ear-loops. I press the interfacing onto marginally-precise rectangles Sarah will sew into masks on her late grandmother’s Singer. To the Navajo Nation today, we mail twenty masks of nineteenth-century design. We’ll send more tomorrow, and in two days, and on for however long, heartened and determined yet dejected and guilt-ridden too. Our family’s needs and wants are easily obtainable nearby, immeasurably more accessible than the patchwork roadside convenience store/gas station/trading posts that sustain most Reservation towns. It’s clear: hogans and handkerchiefs present little resistance to viruses, obduracy, and neglect.

— Michael Silver (Phoenix, Arizona)

* * *

DRIVE-BY PUPPET SHOW

My family created a drive-by puppet show, lip syncing to the song “I Will Survive.” We hung red curtains over the side windows of our car, drove around to friends’ houses, texted them to come out onto their porches, cranked up the music, and let the puppets do their thing! Then we had a short visit. There is something about seeing people in person, even in a driveway and at a distance, that’s thrilling.

— Denise Kenney (Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada)

(Top photo: Drive-by puppet shows)

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I’M NOT FLOATING

These days the litter seems braver than me. The way it floats outdoors, boasting of its freedom, whilst I sit on the other side of a glass window and watch with fear. There’s been more of it lately. Litter. Gloves, crisp packets, masks, bottles. I wonder where it all came from? From brave souls working on the frontlines terrified, or from the rule-breakers? Either way, part of me is jealous. Jealous that even with a daily exercise allowance there are days I can’t make my feet step out of the front door, and the litter floats on.

— Chloe Lunn (Wales, United Kingdom)

* * *

SADNESS AND JOY

I wander through the neighborhood park. As I wind down the path, I come across a picnic table wrapped in yellow tape looking like the remnant of a forgotten crime scene. Further down the way, a playground is similarly treated with a homicide-like barrier, warning children to stay away. Grim reminders of our current situation assault my sensibility. I wander down a bit further and I begin to hear the soft murmur of music. As I approach, I see a young man playing a clarinet in the park. Lovely. The pandemic brings unfamiliar scenes of sadness and joy.

— Wanda Kolomyjec (Phoenix, Arizona)

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This series is edited by Thomas Peterson. One of the editors of Artists & Climate Change, he is also a theatre director and researcher whose work focuses on the climate crisis.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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By Mary Woodbury

I recently re-read Wu Ming-Yi’s The Man with Compound Eyes (Goodreads), which takes place in Taiwan, and was thrilled to connect with the author. This chat has been partially translated, so I thank Zheng (East) Wang, from the University of British Columbia, a native Chinese language speaker who received a BA in English and a minor in Chinese Language and Culture.

On the island of Wayo Wayo, every second son must leave on the day he turns fifteen as a sacrifice to the Sea God. Atile’i is one such boy, but as the strongest swimmer and best sailor, he is determined to defy destiny and become the first to survive.

Alice Shih, who has lost her husband and son in a climbing accident, is quietly preparing to commit suicide in her house by the sea. But her plan is interrupted when a vast trash vortex comes crashing onto the shore of Taiwan, bringing Atile’i with it.

In the aftermath of the catastrophe, Atile’i and Alice retrace her late husband’s footsteps into the mountains, hoping to solve the mystery of her son’s disappearance. On their journey, memories will be challenged, an unusual bond formed, and a dark secret uncovered that will force Alice to question everything she thought she knew. 

The story is humorous and sorrowful, and evokes all of the emotions in between. It reminds me that fiction might allow us a wider perspective and “gaze beyond” the facts of climate change, which we remain somewhat blinded to. The compound eye metaphor also alludes to multiple perspectives of the nature around us. Ming-Yi is one of the many authors I’ve spoken with who didn’t wholly intend to write a novel about climate change, but these issues seem to come to the story naturally.

We haven’t read anything like this novel. Ever. South America gave us magical realism – what is Taiwan giving us? A new way of telling our new reality, beautiful, entertaining, frightening, preposterous, true…. Wu Ming-Yi treats human vulnerability and the world’s vulnerability with fearless tenderness.” — Ursula K. Le Guin

Taiwan is suffering warmer temperatures, similar to many places around the world, and is predicted to continue experiencing rising sea levels and extreme storms. With the wave of young climate activists, we’ve also seen the rise of youth like Kaisanan Ahuan from Puli City, Taiwan – from the Central Taiwan Plains Indigenous People – who stated in The Guardian:

As the indigenous people of Taiwan, we have a particular vulnerability to climate change. Our traditional culture is deeply rooted in the harmony we have with the spirit of nature. We face heartbreaking loss due to increasingly extreme weather events.

CHAT WITH THE AUTHOR

The Man with Compound Eyes follows two stories, one mythical and one contemporary, about people being affected by global warming and their own personal dilemmas. It’s a very refreshing and uniquely told story. What led you to write it?

Many years ago, I read about trash vortexes in the North Pacific Ocean. Even without photos of it, a sequence of imaginary scenes kept hunting me, night and day. As time passed, those scenes became interconnected and turned into a holistic whole in my mind. They reminded me of the place where I had lived, Hualian. Hualian is a small city facing the Pacific. I have stood there and watched birds fly. Then the idea came to me that maybe one day, all the garbage would fly to the shore to meet its creators – us. In addition, my understanding of climate change and my passion for the sea led me to write the story’s first chapter.

I like the story of Atile’i and the Wayo Wayo. Is this similar to a real legend in Taiwan?

For the story, I read many books from the field of ethnography, and, of course, about a beautiful island named Lanyu and its inhabitants, Tao. Wayo Wayo is very much an ethnic group defined by the ocean, aiming to communicate with other civilizations defined by land. I also hoped to depict the complexity of the colorful Taiwanese races and ethnicities. As a result, I added the Bunun tribe onto the story.

The story of Alice is also interesting. Her home is literally becoming submerged by rising seas, and she is dealing with extreme loss and grief. What influenced your creation of this character?

I live between Taipei and Hualian. The former is a big city where people try to ignore the fact that they are living in nature; the latter is a small city located at the crossroads of a 3,000-foot mountain and the great Pacific Ocean. People who live near nature can witness the changes, and be more impacted by the fact that the environment has changed dramatically. Personal despair becomes intertwined with the further despair of comprehending the total destruction of nature. I wanted to express this feeling.

The novel addresses several environmental issues like climate change, trash vortexes, whaling, construction, and seal hunting. It’s amazing that you built these issues into a novel while just telling a great story. How do you think fiction can be a tool for exploring environmental issues?

These issues came into the story naturally. I was not adding them with intention. In the process of creating the characters, these issues simply entered their lives, so I forced myself to look into what was underneath them. I have been a part of some environmental groups, so while some topics might be unfamiliar to the general public, I knew them very well and wanted to introduce them to a wider audience.

How have you seen Taiwan change in the modern era as far as pollution, global warming, and so on?

Taiwan has been a victim of environmental degradation, due to Western companies setting up their high-pollution industries here. Of course, Taiwan also has itself to blame since its government does not protect the environment. At the moment, Taiwan is facing a choice: whether to become an environmental example for South East Asia, or to become an abandoned world craving for economic growth. Some might say that both could be achieved simultaneously, but as a country with limited resources and a declining population, as well as being under the shadow of the People’s Republic of China, this might be merely wishful thinking. Taiwan must recognize the value of its precious human culture, and at the same time, pay more attention to its natural beauty. Taiwan should fight against pollution to make a positive impact against global warming.

Thank you for the great story as well as your time with this interview. I look forward to more from you in the future!

(Top image: Wu Ming-Yi in Slovakia, courtesy of Chen Meng-Ping.)

This article is part of our Wild Authors series. It was originally published on Dragonfly.eco.

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Mary Woodbury, a graduate of Purdue University, runs Dragonfly.eco, a site that explores ecology in literature, including works about climate change. She writes fiction under pen name Clara Hume. Her novel Back to the Garden has been discussed in Dissent Magazine, Ethnobiology for the Future: Linking Cultural and Ecological Diversity (University of Arizona Press), and Uncertainty and the Philosophy of Climate Change(Routledge). Mary lives in Nova Scotia and enjoys hiking, writing, and reading.

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Artists and Climate Change is a blog that tracks artistic responses from all disciplines to the problem of climate change. It is both a study about what is being done, and a resource for anyone interested in the subject. Art has the power to reframe the conversation about our environmental crisis so it is inclusive, constructive, and conducive to action. Art can, and should, shape our values and behavior so we are better equipped to face the formidable challenge in front of us.

Go to the Artists and Climate Change Blog

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