Dear Artist: Diaspora, Burnout, and New York City: Food as a way of survival and loving

Jun 6

"Is visual art still a viable career for me?”

In the middle of the pandemic, I began to reevaluate my actions toward art-making.

It's crazy now, and I haven't really established a strong foundation myself here. What do I do when I'm not compelled to do art as I used to make them before? Why am I still here when a lot of people are fleeing from here?

Those thoughts were rolling in my mind as I was trying to sit through my emotions as someone who immigrated here in the US. Far from the routine before when I would stay in the city for only a year, I suddenly found myself isolated in an apartment for months (except for days when I had to report to work outside).

As a person trying to navigate my creative practice and paying the bills, this pandemic definitely wasn't helpful with the existing crippling pressure of moving to a new country, a new city; while trying to stay sane to tend to my mental and physical health and being a functioning human being.

I was actually looking forward to the average going back — I hosted an ArtForMedPH partnership with Marika, my dear friend, and former intern boss, to raise funds for public health hospitals. I was also able to establish my voice and style in Photo illustration while offering it as a client-based work and, most importantly -– bringing joy to others through my work.

At one point, when I thought I could kick burnout and hopelessness about the world through my art. But only to realize that it wasn't enough. I spiraled down. I had to invest in my mental health through (pricey) therapy sessions. I just powered through and rested for long periods.

Hi there. My name is Clarisse.

✨This is my online space all about creative practice ✍️ process 💌 & my life.

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After all that had happened, one things for sure - I looked forward to eating and food. It’s not only such an approachable topic to talk about with people close to you (or strangers), but also is such a practical yet tasty medium to express yourself. I signed up for an online baking class and was on and off about cooking, most especially when I moved to the city — which meant that you had to budget your money since eating outside wasn't the most budget-friendly or the healthiest option. For three days in a row of eating ready-to-eat meals or excessively relying on cheap takeout, I immediately felt sick. From that feeling of disgust and overall not good a feeling, I started small with easy-to-cook snacks and meals like omelets, kimchi fried rice from leftover rice, and simple ways to make a dish a little more interesting.

For fun, I signed up for an online baking class. When the class began — I thought to myself - what am I doing? But then, this interests me, and this is a new exploration. I'll go ahead and do it anyway, even if I may deem this as a way of "wasting" money on ingredients and time.

I felt like I was really trying to explore something to get my mind off how things are draped with uncertainty.

So after 2 days of preparing and making my first sponges and a few burnt samples, I made my ugly yet delicious chocolate cake with swiss meringue buttercream.

I felt like I did something so wonderful when it was just me sitting at the corner of my kitchenette of a small Manhattan apartment that probably wasn't the most well-equipped to be a place for baking cakes.

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I still felt I was creating. I didn't feel dead inside when I would cook or bake. I would not overthink about my art (which I think was a creative practice slowly poisoned by capitalism only for the sole purpose of survival). But artists know that there is more to being a consumer or survival. An artist's part of survival is creating and expressing something — an amalgamation of thoughts and feelings.

After a few days of rest, I realized that I should probably be back on cooking at least thrice a week — nothing super fancy — just everyday meals with local ingredients from the small grocer near our apartment, or from the farmer's market near my design school in Union Square.

I remember the first aha moment. Our neighbor shared a recipe of a spinach strawberry salad with candied pecans, feta cheese, and vinaigrette. Upon tasting the umami flavor that I always loved from Filipino food, it got me hooked. So I went back and made my version and made some adjustments. I used gorgonzola blue cheese and added some of my Filipino condiments there. Then I paired it with a recipe I nervously executed — Lengua (cow’s tongue) with creamy mushroom sauce but I used beef tenderloin instead since I was in a rush. I slowly smothered it on a bed of hot rice and added Crispy Kangkong (but I used spinach as an alternative) with garlic mayo dip on the side. I served it to my neighbor and my mom during our isolated Christmas dinner.

Hours of searing the meat and waiting and cooking patiently for 2 hours' exhaustion were wiped out when I saw their smiles while munching the meal – my labor of hard work and love.

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Food has become a new medium for me to explore — not only for myself but also to nurture other people. And I think that was one of the key things that made cooking closer to me because I was focusing not only on the expression of myself (which I usually did with art) but also on how I delight or feed my small group; during a quarantine holiday dinner.

I then witnessed how food turned into an avenue to lift the burden from a newly transplanted burnout visual artist trying to survive the city at that time.

Cooking meant calling my Lola and our home cook in the Philippines about her adobong tapa (who were both skilled in serving large parties) — and trying to actually add quantity to their magic measurements by eye (which were all by feeling and experience).

Cooking meant conversations with my mom to tell me stories about her childhood and what food made her feel nostalgic and the food that she wasn't eating a lot (since they grew up poor). That’s when she shared with me about the tender memorie of weekends when they would be

able to drink chocolate or pineapple juice instead of having them served to guests instead. I remember her buying a box of Chuckie or Moo (brands of chocolate drinks in the Philippines) and proclaiming: "Bibili ako ng isang kahon kasi di ako nakakainom nito dati nung bata ako, eh." (I'm buying a lot of these since I rarely had them when I was a kid.)

Cooking meant exploring my social media apps with eye-catching and inspiring home cooks and even professional chefs, especially from the Black, Indigenous, and People of Color community — where I met a lot of talented Filipino creatives and met up in a Filpinx (a Filipino cookbook launch) where I truly felt alive, a little bit shy because I wouldn't call myself a "chef" or a "good cook." But on that night, it was the intersection of me growing up in the Philippines for two decades, feeling the diaspora.

Many beautiful things happened — working on a visual for Erika for Patikim NYC, collaborating with Abi of The Dusky Kitchen for her unique Pasalubong Boxes filled with delectable treats to raise mutual aid funds, a fun cookie swap with local bakers, and a small year end gathering in Upstate New York to visit my chef friends who were serving guests their own version of Filipino food.

This brings me to the statement of — after burning out a lot, I couldn't focus inward since I lost a lot of hope. Cynicism enveloped my soul during the rollercoaster of a ride since the pandemic happened, but by thinking:

"How can my cooking care for people — even if it's just my mom and my neighbor?" "How can my art be of service or be a way to help others in their dire need?"

Looking out for others when you can't get out or look out for yourself can be a tool to recover from the pandemic burnout, and burnout in general.

Thank you, food, for bringing a new spice to my creative practice and friendships. You were a medium to express the homesickness of my home back in the Philippines, my longing to embrace friends, a way to bounce back from my burnout from making art. So, for now, I'll be practicing my cooking with the hope of making the most love-filled dishes I've cooked ever and finally embracing them without the fear of getting sick.

New York, it's been a crazy ride living and staying here during the pandemic. Once you live here, you will definitely realize you are spoiled to eat the best of the best food from different experiments of small homebased bakers and makers, cheap bodega treats, and makers to the most expensive meals you’ll ever have — almost everything is delicious.