Quarantined — David Robert Farmerie

My left clavicle broken into three pieces.

Like everyone else in the world, I have been in quarantine since the beginning of March. For awhile I was able to find freedom from quarantine by getting out on “Velvet”, by 1993 BMW motorcycle. But on Memorial Day that all came crashing to a halt - literally, and figuratively. Since then I have been quarantined, more due to recovery, than from the avoidance of COVID.

On Tuesday, the 21st of July, I finally had surgery to put the broken pieces back together - just three days shy of 8 weeks since I had broken the bones.

But this post is not about the broken bones, or the accident. Instead, it is about differing effects, brought on by the different types of quarantine - something that I never would have imagined existed. And how I became aware of this phenomenon was through my photography.

In the early days of self-quarantine, when it was all about avoiding the COVID virus and, simultaneously, not spreading it if I was infected by it, little had changed in my life - aside from the fact that I wasn’t working on assignments. But being sequestered in my home, for me, was no different than any other time I am in between assignments. That is my time to regroup. And the fact that I was able to get out, almost daily, on Velvet, I really wasn’t experiencing a true quarantine.

After the accident the quarantine still had no affect on me; but now, the only thing present in my awareness, was the pain; my clavicle was broken into three pieces, and six of my ribs were broken in nine places. I had no sense of being quarantined. In fact, I relished the aloneness - aside from having to walk the dog a few times a day.

Two weeks after the accident, my wife, and I drove to northern Arizona, so that I could get medical help (trust me, it’s a long story). The three-day drive brought about a limited awareness of the quarantine - with restaurants closed, and the need to wear a mask, and constantly be cognizant of washing my hands after the slightest contact with anything outside the car.

Once in northern Arizona, and being on the Navajo Reservation, the restrictions brought on by COVID were strict, and strongly enforced - but still, I simply felt as if I were between assignments - and, healing from injuries. Now it was a double-side kind of situation. This forced quarantine still, for me, was not forced. Had there been no forced quarantine, by days would have been spent exactly the same way. My primary focus - the focus that occupied most of my waking, and even sleeping awareness was managing the pain, and trying to get the injuries resolved.

It wasn’t until I returned home, and had the surgery, that things changed. Now my quarantine status was (for me) all about the physical recovery process. But after weeks of binge-watching streaming services, and unable to read - because of an impaired vision, I began to crave intellectual stimulation - which, in hindsight, was the result (in large part) of the quarantine. What I realized is that, had it not been for the quarantine, I would have been able to engage in face to face conversation, with others. I would have had the opportunities to debate ideas, concepts, and curiosities, with others. This was the result of the mandated quarantine, for me. It was not about [not] being able to go out. It was about not being able to have anyone come in.

My craving, for intellectual stimulation, was fulfilled [ironically] by binge-watching. But this time the watching was of the intellectual nature - and as an added benefit, it was all photography- related. I still longed for the interaction with others. In fact, that longing had become intensified because of the things I was watching. I wanted to discuss it. I wanted to gain outside insights into it.

After the third day, following my surgery, I began to react - creatively. But even before that, from the moment that I arrived home, after the surgery (it was done as an outpatient), things began stirring within me. Over the past several weeks: eight to be exact, much had begun to change within me. Now that the surgery was done, all of the stresses, that surrounded that, had vanished. No longer did I need to worry, nearly every moment, about shifting my broken bones. No longer did I need to worry about worsening the injuries. No longer did I need to worry about finding a surgeon. All of this was behind me.

My reaction, on day three, was completely spontaneous. I came out of the bedroom - for what reason, I have no recollection. But what I do remember is seeing a scene - at the kitchen windows that open out onto the deck. They were heavily fogged, from the high humidity outside, pressing against the chilled glass, from the interior air conditioning. Immediately I returned to the bedroom, to grab one of my cameras - a digital Nikon. Quickly - well, as quickly as was possible under the circumstances, I returned to the scene, made a series of images, and then abruptly stopped… I needed to record this scene on film - black & white - of course, with one of my Hasselblads. For the first time, in months - quite possibly, years, I was pre-visualizing in the square format. I was also pre-visualizing in black & white. I was on fire, within. Passion, creativity - they both burned as intensely as they ever had.

The light was fading, rapidly - and the Hasselblads were downstairs, in my office, in a latched hardcase. I would also need a tripod. My left arm was still virtually useless, but I needed it - to unlatch the case, and to carry the camera, and tripod upstairs in one trip. I also needed both hands to secure the camera to the tripod head. I did what needed to be done...

The day before, while the rains fell in a deluge of repeated downpours, I found myself making images of the curtains that cover the master bedroom windows, as well as photographs of the view through barren bushes detailed with raindrops. I had even begun photographing the cats, as they laid on the bed - something that is never permitted (cats laying on the bed - not “photographing” the cats). I was photographing what I felt - translating my emotions lossless-ly. I had returned to the core of being an image-maker, and a visual storyteller. I had returned to life.