The mist inside your mind - by Philippa Linton

In January 2020, I went to Olafur Eliasson’s In Real Life exhibition at Tate Modern. Danish-Icelandic artist Eliasson creates hypnotically beautiful and powerful art installations. The exhibition included his Wavemachines, the Big Bang Fountain, the Little Sun (a little solar ball of renewable energy), structures of glacial ice and moss walls, Colour Experiments, the Structural Evolution Project … and a tunnel filled with fog called Your blind passenger.

This was my favourite work. You enter a 45-foot corridor filled with artificial fog and fluorescent light which changes colour as you move forwards. The illusion is that the fog itself is changing colour, from white to yellow, then to orange, then bright blue. The fog is so thick you can barely see the people in front or behind you. You are wholly surrounded, encased in cool, glowing mist. It’s an immersive experience that challenges your senses, disorientating but also thrilling.

What a prophetic picture though of the year 2020. So many feel apprehensive in the mist, groping around in the fog. So much pain, loss, grief and uncertainty swirling around.

Many times this year I’ve felt a mist inside my mind. The mist has also swirled coldly round my heart – I’ve struggled with social isolation, mild depression, anxiety. Like all of us, I am hoping and praying for a way forward, for the light to pierce the deadly fog of this pandemic, for the door to swing open so we can finally escape the tunnel of lockdown.

The mist in my mind and soul has caused my writing juices to dry up. I’ve written very little this year … although last week I did take out a short story I had begun three years ago, and edited it, rewriting large portions, with a satisfactory result. The story still needs work, but it’s better than before.

I have a lot to work through right now. Old losses and new challenges are swirling around in the mist. Nonetheless, I am a writer. Even if I write only for myself (and God), I am still a writer.

And so are you.

It’s OK if we still feel lost in the mist, if the fog has percolated through to our skin, our senses, and clings there. That’s only to be expected. We are human, after all.

Whatever form our journeys take in this bewildering mist, our creativity is a form of liberation. Even as we feel disorientated and lost, we can discern a glowing light of hope in the fog. We can write about the mist, we can write through the mist … and we can write beyond the mist.

Hang in there. Write what you feel, write whatever you can. And if you can’t … take hope. God made you a writer. You’ll get there. One day the door will swing open, and we will be free of the mist … but we won’t forget the lessons we learned there.

I work full time for the United Reformed Church in the central London office (although am working from home at the moment). I’m also a lay minister. I wrote a devotional for the anthology ‘Light for the Writer’s Soul’, published by Media Associates International, and my short story ‘Magnificat’ appears in the ACW Christmas Anthology ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’.