Four stories of productivity and creativity under lockdown
Photography David Jorre
London warehouse-dwellers share how being shut inside has transformed their relationship with work
By Allyssia Alleyne
No one should be considered lucky for having the means to pay their bills during a pandemic, but that’s the world we find ourselves in. In this world, I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m a freelancer doing a job I enjoy, with a base monthly income that is all but assured. I have a savings account and family members who will bail me out if things get hairy. My home has a spacious shared studio space, with high ceilings and an abundance of natural light. My anxieties are more existential than practical.
And yet working from home under lockdown is a struggle. It’s hard to stay focused when my friends are sun-bathing and day-drinking on our back deck; it’s hard to stay motivated when the borders of my world are defined by far I can walk without needing a bathroom.
So for the last five weeks, I’ve been relying on a routine to provide a clear-cut path to productivity, replacing the joy of skiving off with the pleasure of discipline.
My working days start the same way: My alarm goes off at 7:30. By 8:30, I need to be up. By nine, I need to be out. I relish walking the empty streets now that rush hour isn’t a thing.
I stop at a grocer up the road for a chocolate croissant and a Granny Smith apple. I tear the croissant into rough ribbons and finish it on my loop back home. I time things so I’m back just before ten, and turn on the kettle to make my only cup of instant coffee for the day – one spoon Nescafé, two spoons sugar. (I loathe the good stuff.)
I carry my coffee to my desk in the studio and savour the remaining minutes before I switch into work mode. I don’t take work calls or answer work emails or engage with work thoughts before ten – not unless absolutely, irrefutable necessary – because I need some things to be sacred and, also, I’m not paid to. Around noon, I’ll eat the apple. A bit later, I’ll eat something else. I clock off at six.
When I quit my full-time job of five years last July, I never thought I would miss the structure and restrictions of office life, and yet here I am. At a time when a lot of things I took for granted are out of my control, this is an area where I can nurse the illusion.
Professionally, this routine seems to be working. I’ve been commissioned to write thoughtful features I’m proud of. I’ve collaborated with a friend on a video project for a brand I genuinely like. I’ve published two issues of this very magazine. I’ve staved off that nagging feeling that I’m not doing enough.
I know I’m not the only one having to adapt to a new way of working. Every day I’m surrounded by housemates working across video production, carpentry, music, graphic design and more, who are all establishing new routines and reevaluating their relationship with work in general. Here are a few of their stories.
Some names have been changed to preserve anonymity.
‘It’s absolutely crippling not being able to create’
Photography David Jorre
I am an artist, I just don’t have much time to do it. You know, work and that. I’m an oil painter, but then I’m also a language teacher and I do this job and that job. This job is just for money.
Smiling, Is there anything else I can help you with? (Sir implied – I refuse to say it.) I understand how you must feel. I’m sorry we disappointed you. I’m sorry our service wasn’t up to your satisfaction on this occasion.
But really I’m a painter.
Why don’t you get a real job? Don’t you want a place of your own? Don’t you want to be respected?
The week before a blonde-haired man told us all to stay home, we were walking through the gardens. I said, “I’m telling you, if this hits and I can’t go to work, I’m gonna make my EP.” My concept album. It’s all in my head, I just need time to transfer it to music. I’ll finally have time in the studio. Time to paint. If only I had more time.
Ten weeks later and the EP hasn’t been made.
It’s crippling, absolutely crippling not being able to create. The first few weeks, my skin crawled with anxiety. The black hole opened me up and took me in it’s jaws. Hours spent staring at the same canvas. Hours crying over my own failure. If only I had more time. I’m an artist, really.
You’ve got time, so where is the art? Where is your masterpiece? What are you? Your whole life has led up to this. If only you had more time.
You’ve got time, but every colour combination turns a surly shade of grey. Every laugh is an interruption. Every mark turns it’s back on you. Hours chase after one another. Another day passes. Clouds race across the sky. Night falls, alcohol numbs it. You’re not an artist. Time rolls you over and over and over.
I do a little bit with each minute. I put one hand in front of the other and crawl up the side of a cliff. I try not to worry too much about the years spent preparing and hope that it comes. I sing little ideas and lullabies to myself. I try to be kind. I work on the canvas and try not to fall into it. I try to smile.
My painter friend (a real painter) reminds me that it’s meant to be fun. I try to echo what he says and try to remember to be playful. And, little by little, it works.
– Amiyah, 32, Painter
‘Most days felt like Saturday’
Photography David Jorre
For me the transition from normality to lockdown was chaotic. I was in Morocco with a couple friends a week before the measures were announced and, having gone fully freelance late last year, I was attempting to work remotely for the first time. But when borders started to close and flights were cancelled, a crisis mentality set in. Thankfully, we managed to snag tickets on the last flight back to the UK before the Moroccan airports went into lockdown themselves.
However, the relief of returning home was short-lived. Some members of my household (myself included) came down with heavy COVID-19 symptoms, prompting a two-week quarantine.
In the days that followed my recovery, I had a lot more free time than I was used to and a house full of enthusiastic and creative people to play with. I found myself jumping at opportunities to collaborate on a number of different projects. I’ve done a number of branding design projects for friends, and, of course, worked with Maddalena and Allyssia to bring the Quaranzine logo and website to life. I’ve also been working with another housemate to re-work and re-build my own start-up, Earth + Me, with a view to launch in July.
Before I established my new freelance routine, most days felt like Saturday. Every weekday I would start and end the day with work, but the middle would be a mixture of endless distractions and events. (Who knew there were so many birthdays in April?) I ended up using weekends to catch up on the work I hadn’t found time for during the week.
Though this felt sustainable at the time, I learned I really needed at least one whole day to switch off completely. These unprecedented times are far from over, which means it’s important for me to keep a work-life structure that allows me to enjoy them both independently. Establishing a clear routine was very important to bring my workflow back to somewhere close to what it had been before I’d left for Morocco.
Ironically, the chaos of this whole experience has helped me to create a more organised day-to-day existence. Time has flown by and, though it’s taken persistence, I am happy that I can feel comfortable again for work while we continue to move forward.
– Chris, 31, Freelance brand, graphic and product designer
‘I’ve started to view work as more of a privilege under lockdown’
Photography David Jorre
When I moved to London four years ago, one of my main living requirements was having space to do my 3D work. At the time, I couldn’t afford to rent a separate studio space, so warehouse living was an affordable solution for me.
Here, I have plenty of room to store my giant props, as well as a sewing space, complete with a pattern-cutting table. This extra space would have been almost impossible to find in an ordinary house share. But over the last couple of years, my use of the studio space has dwindled. The constraints of a full-time job often distracted me from taking creative risks, and my focus on making money made me lazy when it came to starting new projects purely for my own self-improvement.
However, during lockdown, I’ve been weirdly productive, as there has been no excuse not to get into my studio. This is the only time the pressure of finding a new job has been softened.
As I was already preparing to be out of work (my contract ended a month into lockdown) I was ready to make the most of this time by improving my skill set. This time has afforded me the luxury of achieving goals that would ordinarily be absorbed by the hustle and bustle of normal life.
My degree was in fashion design, and although those skills have proved useful in my current career in creative production, making clothing has never been my main source of income. I, therefore, see it as more of a hobby than actual work. The meaning of the word “work” in my psyche is all too often aligned with the word “money.”
But recently, I’ve started to take on both voluntary and paid sewing work, including sewing scrubs for the NHS and doing various clothing alterations for friends. For now, I’m relying on Universal Credit to pay my rent until people start going back to work and I can find a new job.
Interestingly, I’ve started to view work as more of a privilege under lockdown. Now that money has been taken out of the equation, I get to choose what I spend my days doing, and this feels liberating.
– Emma, 30, Set designer
