Survival

How to Survive a Plague (Again)

Susan Sontag called illness “the night side of life.” Can Iowa’s creative communities outlast the long, dark night of COVID-19?

BY DArCiE HUTZEll

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, In sunsets, In midnights, In cups of coffee, In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife —“Seasons of Love,” Rent

Jonathan Larson, who wrote the groundbreaking rock musical Rent, spent all of his time, money and effort creating this piece of enduring musical theater. Rent continues to be relevant to new and younger audiences, speaking in particular to young creatives. It’s a classic story of love, loss, financial strain and the unyielding drive to create, all while living in the shadow of the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s.

In the midst and the wake of the AIDS crisis, many felt that they weren’t getting the real story about the number of people affected, how long we would be living with this new virus or when and if it would end. Back then, people largely felt that if it didn’t directly impact them, maybe it wasn’t real—and there are certainly those who believe similarly about COVID-19, despite the fact that the death toll in the U.S. has exceeded the number of minutes in a year, a number Larson’s musical made famous. (As of April 2, 566,772 Americans have died of COVID-19).

The words and themes of Rent’s quintessential ballad drive us to ask the question: How do we measure this year? Loaves of bread baked? Zoom cocktail parties? Many of us, tired of the bombardment of numbers about COVID-19, turned to creative pursuits that were new, while others tried to hang on to their established creative communities to keep sane and continue creating.

For some, creation is a way to keep our minds focused; for others, it is a distraction from thinking about the daily loss of life caused by a pandemic that has seemed out of control. I found myself panicking when I’d hear of the deaths of friends’ parents, because in the spring of 1990, I lost my dad to the AIDS virus. This pandemic brought that trauma back for me. Watching the death toll rise, with family and friends losing loved ones to a still-little-understood disease, all felt very familiar.

I was a teenager in the late ’80s, growing up in Mason City, Iowa. While I was aware of AIDS, I never felt like it would touch my life. When it suddenly did, I turned to writing and musical theater in high school in part to become someone different from myself, but also to have a community of creative people that was wholly accepting of me. I was a prolific writer back then, and much of my work centered on hiding. How long did my dad hide his illness, his lifestyle? Exploring that in writing was a necessary thing for me, and so turning to writing again during this pandemic was healing. I decided that there was an urgency to tell my story, similar to the urgency felt among many in the gay community to tell theirs during the AIDS crisis.

“Art Office is a work program in which artists are prompted to consider their creative processes more like workday office jobs,” said Carla Baudrons, managing director of Art Office. “Our mission is to help artists focus and be more productive by prescribing a regimen based on personal responsibility, peer accountability and public engagement.” Finding community was also crucial during the AIDS epidemic as well, as artists were isolated from their galleries, mentors, art dealers, in addition to the general public, all based on their viral status. It was because of this that a group of writers, critics and curators founded VisualAIDS. Started in 1988, VisualAIDS was a way to help the most marginalized show work, get jobs and secure funding for care and even basic art supplies. The organization was “THE COMMUNITY ASpECT OF ArT OFFICE one of the first national IS INTEGrAl, SO KEEpING THE ArTISTS programs to highlight the impact of AIDS on CONNECTED WAS OF THE UTMOST the creative community. IMpOrTANCE.” —CARLA BAUDRONS VisualAIDS still serves as a place for artists affected by HIV and AIDS to gather,

I started having conversations with my commiserate and show work. Baudrons hopes friends, many of whom are creatives, about that the Art Office will serve as a similar kind pandemics and the drive to create. Art has of place. always been political, but for many the images, “Art Office was in the planning phase when activism and communities during the AIDS the pandemic started. I had to refigure how the epidemic became truly vital for survival. The program was going to work. The community government was doing little to acknowledge that aspect of Art Office is integral, so keeping the AIDS was happening and people were dying, so artists connected was of the utmost importance,” activism turned to artists. The images from the Baudrons said. “Fortunately, everyone who was ’80s still endure today. Will we have art from this helping me test the system out was more than pandemic that will resonate 20 years from now? willing to use Zoom to connect with their fellow Will we have communities that still endure? artists, up to five times per week. In the heat of 6 the pandemic, when everyone was hyper-diligent about staying home, Art Office provided its Wrestling with an idea and having the opportunity to meet and discuss ideas participants a much-needed outlet to see people and practice social skills, as well as the benefits surrounding the creation of art have been a of holding each other accountable in their challenge, as has finding support for those who practices. In a lot of ways, I believe our group are marginalized. Zoom and other online video flourished because we were forced to be creative platforms have certainly been one way to stay in our restructuring of the program.” connected, but for those creatives looking for Baudrons is also brainstorming opportunities more support, whether it be for supplies or just a to show the art created by this year’s participants. place to see another creative face, they can turn to “We have shows at the end of every session, Art Office, founded in May 2020, in conjunction though normally these would be held in a with Public Space One in Iowa City. gallery,” she said. “Because of COVID, our

shows are online live, either through Zoom or Facebook. Each artist presents their work, and we have a Q&A. The audience aspect is practically nonexistent, and it’s a great loss. The nuts and bolts are still there, but it just isn’t the same.”

Participants have struggled, certainly, with the lack of in-person connections and physical workspaces, but, Baudrons said, the “resilience and comradery of facing a global pandemic together” helped to mitigate that loss. 6

theater in the 1980s served as a place where spurned eventual legislation. Maybe the images actors with HIV/AIDS could find a group that of the pandemic have yet to come. would accept them, when the world at large just Andringa was reluctant to discuss his specific saw a sick person, dying of their own fault. experiences creating art in the environment of the “Being a member of the LGBTQIA+ AIDS epidemic, but did say, “The conservatives community, theater has always served as a safe were favored to win, but they underestimated the place, and for many the only place where they are tenacity of their opponents, who either despite loved and accepted,” Drollinger said. “It was a their personal traumas or perhaps spurred on by struggle, the loss of the physicality and proximity them, fiercely fought for their lives against the of the community, for me personally. But then, onslaught of indifference to their plight. I see no these amazing videos were created, and shared all such threat facing vaccination deniers, economic over social media. Even though we were physically Jeremiah or libertarian anti-maskers, yet they all

Many creatives enjoy making art alone, apart, we were still connected emotionally, put on the ashes of oppression to assume their and sequestering during the pandemic through our online artistic communities.” victim status.” may have felt almost normal for them. But for creatives in theater, finding a new way to perform 6 He also said that while his desire to sing his own song is strong, he is also listening as much as and collaborate was vital. Christian Drollinger says the connections and community he finds Mel Andringa, a longtime Iowa artist, and founder of LegionArts in partnership possible to the songs of others, especially during the pandemic, where other artists are struggling in City Circle Theatre Company have been with CSPS in Cedar Rapids, doesn’t find having in a myriad of ways. During the pandemic, lifesaving. community quite so vital as a visual artist. He’s artists and creatives have had a difficult time

“In general, I think the arts communities have been producing more work than ever during the with support, both financial and emotional. But flourished during the pandemic,” Drollinger said. pandemic, specifically about the pandemic. Andringa notes that financially, he’s all right. “Initially, it was quite difficult. “Being housebound and There was a lot of uncertainty not shopping as much has put about whether or not theater should be happening, and how do “SOMETHING WAS TAKEN FrOM [ArTISTS], lIKE me in a pretty good situation for the time being. My we adapt? I remember talking to a FEElINGS OF NOrMAlCY, AND THEY NEED TO biggest challenge has been friend who was just cast in a local WrESTlE WITH THAT EXpErIENCE UNTIl IT handling technical problems production about what their plans were, and how can we continue to GIVES SOMETHING BACK, BE IT A pAINTING, A in a much more complicated environment,” Andringa said. create art amidst the anxiety and STOrY, A DANCE Or A SONG.” —MEL ANDRINGA “I can Zoom, but I’m in over sadness that was just beginning my head when I try to play with to set in. And then we shifted to the cool kids.” online theater.” In the early 1980s, anxiety and fear drove Larry “I am more productive during the lockdown, 6 Kramer to write A Normal Heart, as he became frustrated with the gay community’s resistance and my work addresses the lockdown, but most of my artist friends are frustrated because Like the AIDS crisis before it, this pandemic has come with great loss. The current to take AIDS seriously. City Circle is making they’re either trying to wait it out or act as if it LGBTQ community lost many fine creators due their own foray into original work with Acting is a distraction ... from a long-standing practice,” to government inaction, misinformation and Out While Staying In, a series of short plays Andringa said. He was surprised that area artists bigotry—factors that drive the higher death counts by eastern Iowa playwrights opening virtually did not incorporate last year’s derecho experience in marginalized communities today. Fear and on April 9. It’s a trend that’s been prevalent in more into their art. uncertainty created some of the great works of the area theaters throughout the pandemic (RHCR “Disruptions like COVID, etc., are gifts to late 20th century, but at what cost? Even though also premieres Zoom Into Spring April 19). an artist,” Andringa said. “Something was taken strife and turmoil are great for a creative process, But content aside, the fact that theater survived from them, like feelings of normalcy, and they staggering loss of life is a very hefty price to pay. online at all may have had a similar effect. need to wrestle with that experience until it gives COVID-19’s devastation has been

“Glitzy costumes, extravagant sets and an something back, be it a painting, a story, a dance astronomical. Art will again be a medium orchestra transformed into people on screens. It or a song.” through which we can explore what happened. felt cold and distant,” Drollinger said of the early Art as a means of processing and commenting Community and support are a constant struggle, days of virtual theater. “It was not the warm, on a crisis was central to AIDS activists. In now more than ever. Artists, writers, community welcoming community I was used to. But not addition to playwriting, Kramer used prominent theater and musicians have always been uplifted too long later, I grew to admire the actors who artists of the time to make very moving images in our community, and that support will need to approached the challenge with the same level [of that have now become iconic and instantly continue if we don’t want to risk losing another enthusiasm] they’d give a live audience.” recognizable. Keith Haring and his horned generation of creatives.

An essential worker, Drollinger found that sperm and the powerful pink triangle with the theater allowed them to breathe and live without text SILENCE = DEATH serve as reminders of Darcie Hutzell is an Iowa native and has been a fear. While this pandemic drove us farther apart a crisis that still rages. The AIDS crisis inspired writer for most of her life. She is a University of Iowa physically, as the virus spread with proximity, artists to use their art as activism, which in turn graduate and lives with her family in Iowa City.

Scary Good Eats

The owners of Cedar Rapids’ newest cafe dish about opening a restaurant with their best friend amid a pandemic.

BY BrYCE JONES

Feedwell Kitchen & Bakery

560 Boyson Rd NE Suite A, Cedar Rapids, 319-409-6905, feedwellkitchenandbakery.com Offers curbside pick-up, no delivery

Chef Melanie Abu-Nameh, 44, and baker Holly Ervin, 45, first met at a tennis margarita league event, as best friends do, and quickly bonded over family and food. While Abu-Nameh has worked in the restaurant industry her whole career (from line cook to culinary instructor to executive chef), Ervin regarded baking as a side passion. In October, the two combined their talents to open a breakfast, sandwich and pastry joint called Feedwell Kitchen & Bakery in Cedar Rapids. During the pandemic, they say they’ve found comfort in working together to feed people well.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

How did Feedwell’s concept come to be?

Melanie Abu-Nameh: We wanted to have baked goods and make sandwiches on homemade bread. Originally, we weren’t going to be a coffee shop—but if you have pastries, you have to have coffee. We wanted to have light options with grab-and-go stuff. Holly Ervin: We compare ourselves to Panera but with a choice. We’re not tied to any one thing, and that really was a fun idea.

Can you describe the restaurant in three words?

MA: Approachable. HE: Community. MA: Fresh. HE: Community, approachable and fresh. I mean, we don’t want to have cuisine that’s too scary, but we want it to be enough that people are going out of their bounds to try something.

What challenges have you faced, and what’s surprised you about opening a restaurant during a pandemic?

HE: The format of our restaurant has always been super high-quality food and baked goods but on a quick-serve basis. The seating capacity is 99, and we never wanted to have a full-service environment—we want to know our customers.

Melanie Abu-Nameh and Holly Ervin opened Feedwell Kitchen & Bakery in October 2020. Addi Arp / Little Village

And from the very start we wanted to do a lot of to-go. So that part of [COVID-19] didn’t scare us. But other than that, it scared the hell out of me. MA: Initially when we opened up [in October], we were so busy we couldn’t even keep up. We were only open for two weeks before we had to close. We were tripping over each other, and we were like, “This is not good for COVID-19 or anything.” It was just like: Slow it down. Figure it out.

How do you play to each other’s strengths?

HE: Recently, for one of our Monday Meals, we had tarte Tatin. I’d never done dry caramel, and Melanie does it all the time when she makes flan. It’s great to share [our knowledge]. We’ve always said if one of us wanted to learn something, they’d be able to do that. MA: There’s certainly a collaborative spirit. For the Monday Meals, I’ll say, “I’m making this, so what’s going to go well with it?” And then we come up with a menu. HE: Or, “There’s a new sandwich we’d like to try. What bread would be best with it?” Melanie has been in the industry a lot longer than I have, so she’s got things down from a business perspective. I’d be lost without her.

How would you each describe your cooking and baking style?

MA: There’s nothing better than sitting around a table with people that you know and having fresh food. I’m half Cuban, so I love cooking Cuban food. And my husband is Palestinian, so I love learning all the Middle Eastern stuff— fusing things that you didn’t even think would go together. HE: The part of baking I like the best is just occasionally looking out to the lobby and seeing someone take a bite of something, and they’re like, “Oh, my god.” I’ve always baked for other people. Yes, I want things to be beautiful, but I don’t want it to feel like it’s a machine.

Where do you find inspiration for the food you make?

HE: For me, my mom decorated cakes when we were kids, and we were always in the kitchen with her. I was in awe. It’s just that sense of family and doing things for people you love. As much as I enjoy doing it, I really enjoy the gifting of it. MA: The traveling I’ve done with my students, my family.

Melanie, what’s your favorite place you’ve been?

MA: Probably Cuba. I loved Italy; I love France. I guess you just find inspiration wherever you go. I mean, I grew up here [in Iowa], right? So I like doing stuff I grew up cooking, but maybe putting a spin on it.

What’s your favorite thing on your menu right now?

HE: Favorite sandwich, 100 times over, is the Medianoche. It’s a Cuban [a sandwich with roast pork, ham, mustard, Swiss cheese and pickles], but it’s on sweet bread. MA: I grew up eating medianoches because I loved the bread, and the bakers just perfected it. But personally right now I think it’s the Kale and Brussels Sprout Bobb.

What are your upcoming plans for Feedwell?

HE: There are a couple things in our business plan we had to push off [because of COVID-19], and it would be great to bring those in, like more catering. MA: I would love to do cooking classes, even if it’s just starting small.

What’s the best part about owning a restaurant with your friend?

MA: Probably that we get to see each other every day. There’s something to be said for friends who become family. It’s nice to be able to come here and know that someone has your back. It’s a little bit of peace. HE: The things I would have anxiety about with someone else, I don’t have that. It’s comfortable while being scary, because the venture itself is big. But having comfort and knowing you can lean on somebody, and they can lean on you, makes it so much better.

Bryce Jones was born and raised in Cedar Rapids and is currently pursuing her master’s in journalism at Northwestern University. When she’s not studying or writing, she enjoys watching British reality TV and exploring local bookstores. Feel free to hire her after she graduates in September! (Please.)