Well, this isn’t the kind of March madness I think any of us were expecting. Let’s recap the last week, shall we? A global pandemic. (No need to dwell on the details of that as I’m sure we’ve heard them reiterated to death. I’ll just add that as someone who falls into a high risk group, I am doing everything I can to stay home as much as possible and limit my contact with people.) And then, as if that wasn’t enough, why not throw a 5.7 magnitude earthquake into the mix, with the epicenter not far from where I live? Just for kicks. Because March wasn’t eventful enough. Fortunately, that is still a pretty light earthquake, but enough to rattle me, and plenty of other residents.

To put it mildly, the surrealists have nothing on what the last week has brought. Nothing. Continuing to write work emails through aftershocks that rattled my windows? Thanking my brother from a distance when he came decked in a mask and gloves (to avoid exposing me to potential illness) to secure my bookshelves against a future earthquake? Yeah, surreal.

This morning, shortly after the earthquake, I pulled an art history book off my shelf to turn to a specific painting I was thinking of that felt particularly appropriate for today. I opened it up and set it on the stool beside me while I worked all day. It’s a painting from about 1530 by an unknown artist, entitled Lot and His Daughters. (See the image above.) This painting, obviously, is a representation of the Biblical story of Lot and his family escaping the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. But from the first time I saw this painting several years ago, the words that popped emphatically into my head were “What do you do when the world burns?”

Of course, I don’t mean literally burning. But when everything is in chaos and things feel like they’re falling apart, what are you supposed to do?

I don’t know what the answer to that should be. I have no idea how to find a balance between paying attention and trying to help where I can, while not losing myself in the chaos. No real answers here. But for me, the only thing that has brought me calmness throughout all of this is art. Listening to Bach. Reading a story about a group of characters who essentially self-isolate during the Black Plague and entertain each other by sharing stories. Looking at 500-year-old paintings and thinking far too much about them. Seeing footage of people who are on lockdown sharing music for and with each other from their balconies. Seeing artist after artist share their work more generously, more sincerely, and more selflessly than before – not because they want attention but because they know people need it. Maybe art brings out the best of the human spirit which acts like a tonic against the chaos? I don’t know. But it brings me peace and joy. Right now, I’ll call that a win.