7 minute read
Navigating Artistic Burnout in a “Post-COVID” World by Marcie Di Bartolomeo
by Marcie Di Bartolomeo [CW: chronic illness, mental health problems, and traumas]
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Growing up I have always been creating. Writing stories. Performing monologues and songs to express myself, and to connect with the people around me, in one of the few ways I knew how. It was no different as an adult; though chronically ill, wherever there was a creative venture I would always be the one to raise my hand up. From theatre to fi lm to short stories to novel-writing, I would fl oat from project to project, working and writing and creating, until my eyes were red, and my body bone-tired.
Then COVID-19 happened. For the longest time I had to learn how to be okay with being confi ned to a chaotic home, with a chaotic family. Most of my creative projects; theatre productions, radio shows, club activities, 99% of my creative commitments were all suddenly cancelled. I was stuck in a rut for the longest while, and resigned myself to writing stories, bingeing all the Netfl ix shows I would always put off, and retreating into the world of D&D and Tabletop RPGs — all on Zoom of course. I became very acquainted with Zoom, like most people during the lockdowns.
Slowly but surely, though, I would become accustomed to this strange new normal. In time, I would be making new forms of art: Zoom theatre shows, and Zoom radio plays. I would focus more on script writing, and on my studies (for once). I suddenly slowed down for the fi rst time in a while, and it was both deliberating and liberating. All around, a strange but nonetheless welcome reprieve from the hustle and bustle of pre-COVID life. That’s the thing about pre-COVID: one of the reasons I typically would get chronically ill was because of how fast life was, and how easily overwhelming everything could quickly become.
You would not be surprised to know that once life started transitioning to a “post-COVID” world that the hustle and bustle would return. During 2021, I found myself working on not one, not two, but THREE theatre productions — and not just small roles too: from directing to writing to production managing to welfare & equity and producing… I had enough hats to cover the wild crow’s nest on my head and then some. Of course, 2021 would end up being defi ned by more lockdowns, and two of the productions I was working on would be cancelled outright (aside from a zine and a trailer for each one, to showcase the months and months that went into both before their cancellations). The cancellations were abrupt changes that we had to adapt to quickly — after all, there were other projects to work on. Nonetheless, re-experiencing the grief of a show cancellation and the infi nite what-ifs of what could be was exhausting, and left my centre of gravity shaken. The third one was another Zoom show. It was a successful Zoom show, and my team and I made the most of Zoom’s quirks. In less than a month we pulled off a quick transition from in-person theatre in a black box to online theatre on laptop screens. It was a jarring transition, an overwhelming series of short, sharp changes that necessitated my brain to work overdrive, and my body to overclock. While invigorating, it was a process that required more spoons than we had to spare, and left us in the depths of post-show burnout afterwards.
And then there’s 2022: a year where everything was supposed to “go ahead as usual”. A return to a pre-COVID way of art-making. Except it has been anything but. I have witnessed many productions have to get cancelled, or postponed due to cast and crew getting sick, and/or succumbing to the ever increasing presence of COVID in the air. I have seen a whole bunch of people pulling out of productions due to sickness, or just because they had too much on their plate. And a large reason for this could be simplifi ed to biting off more than one can chew.
However, I believe it’s more nuanced than that. Think about it. We have come out of a multitude of lockdowns (despite COVID being on the rise again and again), and I know that the student theatre community in particular — starved of several years of in-person theatre — would be grabbing at every opportunity to make in-person theatre again.
I am no different; despite working what is effectively a full time workload in the arts (including but not limited to: organising and running workshops, parties and festivals) I still fi nd myself going for creative opportunities wherever I can see them, including the UHT Writers in Residence playreading program, collaborative novel-writing, and writing a column all about witches, recipes and rituals. I thought that I would be able to accommodate all my commitments, even after reducing my study load to part-time. I was dead wrong. I am numb. I am cold. I am fatigued and get out of breath by even walking to uni nowadays. I am unable to even do all-nighters, the main way I would stay on top of my work. My body now compels me to be asleep before midnight, whether or not I have fi nished with a day’s workload. I’m behind on everything, and just another bad day away from dropping everything and taking the rest of the year off.
I will admit: I am bad with boundaries, and I am bad at saying no, especially when something interesting comes my way that I really want to be involved in – something that will give me a rush of dopamine just by thinking about it. And I doubt I’m the only one. Part of my role as a Creative Arts Offi ce-bearer is to check in with students wherever I can and ask about how their art making is going. And each time I get the same kind of response, “I’ve got a lot on my plate, I am really fatigued and run down, but I can’t stop myself from taking on more creative projects.”
What I have realised — and I can’t speak for everyone, but you may relate to this too — coming out of lockdowns, coming out of what has become your comfort zone, and relearning the hustle and bustle of day to day life, is diffi cult while acclimating to the overwhelming outside world. Re-familiarising yourself with in-person art making and networking in person with fellow creatives, has got to be a really exhausting endeavour. This isn’t helped by the collective and accumulated traumas of the past several years, and the emergence of chronic illness and mental health problems. (Plus long COVID ain’t fun whatsoever.)
For those where art-making is a part of your career, and is how you survive in this scary world, you’re most likely relearning how to make art and facilitate art making in your career too, and a lot more prone to burnout and making mistakes as a result. It could be compared even to relearning how to ride a bicycle, or reinventing the wheel — particularly if your organisation has lost a lot of knowledge and resources from years of being in isolation, and people resigning and moving on. There may be that pressure to work consistently beyond your capacity — until you burn out big time and can’t work for a while, which is a scary reality for many. My main source of income this year has been my work as a Creative Arts Offi cer, which made me feel pressured to keep working and working, even with the temptation to resign. I don’t want to burn out to a point where I can’t work, but if I take a break now, it is also not without its consequences.
So what to do? Well, it’s not easy, but I have got to be kinder to myself. Slow down and focus on a couple of creative ventures, rather than stretching myself thin with all of them. And be okay with saying no, and with taking breaks.
I will be honest, I am still working on this. I still fi nd it saying no to new projects and ideas that fl oat my way. The pain of FOMO saying no to something can sometimes be more painful and draining than saying yes to a new hyper-fi xation. That being said, if a new project is making your old ones feel like chores, is it best to give those up? Resign from those old commitments that only drain you? There’s also the level of responsibility that comes with following through with a creative venture, and the impact of your departure from a commitment, particularly if it’s due to taking on new ones and having too much on your plate.
I don’t know the best answers right now, but right now I am trying to be kinder to myself, and respecting my boundaries more. And you know what? If you do the same, we may be able to recover from this collective artistic burnout together.
