When the world turned upside down in 2020, like so many others, I found myself at home more than ever before. The streets fell silent, the routines we knew were suspended, and the usual hum of daily life became strangely muffled. At first, I’ll admit, I struggled to find my footing. The urge to create was still there, but what does one sketch when the world outside is reduced to one’s own four walls?
And then it began. Slowly at first. I started noticing the absurdities – the flour shortages, the haircuts gone terribly wrong, the pets interrupting Zoom calls with glorious indifference. There was something oddly unifying about it all, and more importantly, there was humour. It crept in like sunshine under the door. These weren’t just mundane moments – they were little lifelines of joy, strangeness, and shared humanity.
That’s how the Lighthearted Lockdown series was born. Every day or two, I’d take one of those strange little details and turn it into a sketch. People queuing outside the bakery in masks, spaced apart like characters in a play. Dogs that looked deeply suspicious about why their humans were suddenly home all the time. Children trying to master baking bread while their parents quietly wept into their wine glasses.
I never intended for the series to go anywhere, but the response was overwhelming. Emails started coming in from people around the world saying, “This is exactly what it feels like,” or “I needed a laugh today.” That meant more to me than I can say. It reminded me that art doesn’t have to be grand to be meaningful. Sometimes it just has to be honest, and perhaps a little silly.
Looking back, the series feels like a time capsule – one that captures not just what happened, but how it felt to live through it. I still return to those drawings now and again, partly to laugh and partly to remember. Because even in the darkest times, there’s something funny about the way we muddle through, slippers and all.