The fine art of a work-life balance
Photography Sahra Peterson
Without an overstuffed calendar of exhibition openings and art history talks, a young arts worker reclaims her leisure time
By Chloe Austin
After months of sending dramatic voice note monologues to bored friends bemoaning the downward trajectory of, well, everything, lockdown is finally easing. But while I’m excited by the possibilities, the idea of returning to “normal” is terrifying.
As someone trying to create a career as an arts administrator, my non-working hours have long been intimately tied to my job. Pre-pandemic, when I was in full-time work, about four of my evenings were filled with work related events, from art history lectures to fancy private views – or at least they were meant to be. Of the ones I scheduled, I probably only made it to half. On the nights of those I skipped, I’d mentally scold myself on the train home for not doing enough.
Seeing friends from outside my professional circles was a rare treat. I didn’t like inviting them to my Saturday gallery days; I didn’t want to put anyone else through the tiring ritual, which turned art into something I felt obliged to experience rather than enjoy.
I would like to say I immediately embraced the opportunity to slow down under lockdown, but that would be a lie. My habit of registering for too many events, becoming overwhelmed and exhausted by the number I attended, and chastising myself over the ones I dropped out of last minute transferred easily to the world of Zoom webinars. But from my confinement in my hometown of Ware, Hertfordshire, a rebalancing of priorities did eventually occur.
This was mainly due to the wisdom of my mum; it’s from her that I learned how to be leisurely. She forced me out on walks with her disapproving glance at my poor posture and terrible desk setup. Venturing far into the Hertfordshire countryside, we spotted red kites and giant hogweed. My mum showed me how to plant seeds and I watched them grow like an excited child. I took pride in our little garden, spending hours digging up weeds, pruning shrubs and watching the birds find worms in the newly tilled soil.
Spending time at home with my family and school friends brought a sense of déjà vu, transporting me back to my teenage years. Although incredibly disappointing to finally reach an age of self-determination only to feel like I was back in the most frustrating years of my life, it was also a moment to reflect on how I’d become who I am, and to examine both the unhealthy and wonderful aspects of being young, financially unstable, and trying to find a foothold in the arts. Rather than overthinking my every interaction with art, I jumped back into old hobbies like sewing and writing without feeling a pressure to turn these activities into a side hustle, just enjoying whiling away the hours with them.
Four months on and I’ve realised that the moments when we clock off are as important as when we’re tuned in. They allow the brain a chance to catch up, to process and to be its most creative.
There are some habits of mine that I know will never change. I will always over-commit. I will always bail on at least one thing a week. And this is OK. However, it’s become clear that some habits have to change. Sacrificing time spent with my family and friends to spend hours alone in art spaces was just sad and unnecessary. Tying my sense of self to something as unstable as my career was bound to make me feel crap.
As the galleries open up, rather than plotting my solo visits, I’m thinking about which of my friends might enjoy which exhibition, and which parks we could debrief in afterwards. I’m also remembering that I can choose to step out if I begin to feel overwhelmed by the art world again; the grounding influence of the countryside will always be there for me when I need it. I hope that bringing leisure and friendship with me into my “new normal” will remind me what the work is for in the first place.