Alone at the Tate Modern

Finding my footing in solitude

Last Sunday I took a trip to the Tate Modern by myself. I did a lot of things on my own before that: flat viewings, grocery, dinner out by myself in Soho. But being at a busy gallery on a Sunday afternoon, surrounded by couples on dates or groups of friends, felt like the defining moment for me. A leap into my new life.

I didn’t visit the Tate Modern at all when I was living here pre-COVID. As I booked my ticket on Sunday, I went into my account to see that I still had a past ticket from an Olafur Eliasson exhibit in December 2019. In describing the installation, the Tate website says: “you become aware of your senses, people around you, and the world beyond.” It was a place I had to confront my own lonely body, and I was not ready for that. I skipped it. The ticket remains in my account, unscanned.

A museum seemed like the most daunting solo activity. There are no distractions. There is so much to look at, but you can still feel like people are staring at you. (Newsflash: they’re not). I booked a slot for 1:00 but pushed it to 2:00, then 2:15. I left the house and discovered that my Airpods had died without me noticing. I was forced to pop my bubble and audibly acknowledge the world. A man on a scooter catcalled me. Another man sat next to me at a bus stop and pushed me to give him money. I felt overwhelmed and itchy all over and wanted so badly to turn around and go home. But the bus arrived and I got on it. And then I got off, and I walked across Millennium Bridge.

Throughout the rooms, I felt almost suffocated with embarrassment. I could barely focus on the words next to the artwork because my brain kept thinking about the group of girls next to me, or the older couple behind me, and how silly I must look to them. Whenever I entered a space, my eyes darted around to look for a single person. I would feel a deep relief when I found one, but then shame when their partner would catch up to them. At one point I grew so annoyed with my thoughts that I took a break in the café.

“The Art Institute” by Richard Schmid

I ordered a lemon pistachio loaf and a jasmine tea and sat at a big table by the balcony window, which overlooked St. Paul’s Cathedral. I brought a book with me and sat there for over an hour, and in that time I became truly delighted by my own company. I took slow bites of my loaf. I looked out at the view. I shamelessly took a photo of my setup and posted it to Instagram. Every so often, the balcony door opened next to me and groups of people streamed out, talking and laughing. By the end, something had changed, and I began to notice the feeling of the cool breeze wafting through the door, rather than the sound of accompanied people walking through it.

Virginia Woolf wrote in a 1927 letter to V. Sackville-West:

Talk of solitude. It is the last resort of the civilised. Our souls are so creased and soured in meaning we can only unfold them when we are alone.

Solitude is the introvert’s form of prayer. But sometimes I find myself even more restless at home, with my brain constantly churning. These days I’ve learned to recharge by walking to a further train stop or taking myself out for a coffee. It gets me out of bed, puts me in places that make me feel peaceful so that I don’t think too hard about what I’m lacking. That’s where I do my tender unfolding, my becoming. It smooths out all my creases. It’s after that when I can truly cherish the presence of other human beings. I won’t have to dig through all the rubble of overthinking to find value. I think often we unknowingly grasp onto the people we love for validation, focusing on how we act in their company, and how that company affects our view of ourselves, rather than just enjoying it as it is and focusing our visions outward. Solitude helps us clarify our inward visions so we can bask in the unfiltered joy of good company. Whether that’s people, or places, or inanimate objects. All of it counts, I think.

I re-entered the exhibits feeling refreshed and aware. It was as if I had re-formed that bubble around myself, focusing only on what I saw on the walls and my relation to it. At one point in the very last room, the crowds had dispersed and I found myself completely alone with a sculptured piece. There is a sacredness in being alone with art, in sharing a space with physical things that have seen not only millions of people but have survived wars and trauma and often bloomed out of them. It was then that I truly understood Olifur Eliasson’s 2019 exhibit — in focusing inward, I could see so much more of the world around me. I felt so lucky to be in my own body, on my own, at that moment. I wished for nothing more.

Mary Oliver wrote in her essay “Wordsworth’s Mountain” from Long Life:

For me it was important to be alone; solitude was a prerequisite to being openly and joyfully susceptible and responsive to the world of leaves, light, birdsong, flowers, flowing water.

Further Reading

“Poem” by Ron Padgett

“The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone” from Brain Pickings

Excerpt from “Letters to a Young Poet” by Rainer Maria Rilke

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What I’ve Enjoyed This Week

Recent Reads

I’ve been taking my sweet time digesting Sally Rooney’s new book Beautiful World, Where Are You?. I’m about halfway through but I’m really enjoying it, so I’ve been taking it slow. I’ll talk more about it next week, probably. In the meantime, here are two poems I’ve enjoyed this week:

• “Myth” by Atta Moharreri:

  Each tree is in love
  with one star. 
  
  Their tears come to life 
  as fireflies. 
  
  We sometimes feel them 
  burning our eyes. 

  I find it very charming. I’ve been enjoying the personification of nature a lot lately.

• “Today I Was Happy, So I Made This Poem” by James Wright. It took me a long time to truly enjoy poetry because I thought most of it came from a place of despair. And yes, much of it does. But to me, the most impactful and resonant poetry comes from a place of pure joy and peace. It speaks of moments I don’t often notice and magnifies them so I can pick out the feelings in my own daily life. This poet looks at nature, observes it deeply, and is struck with an epiphany in the last line: this is what I wanted. That pure satisfaction in ordinary moments. I find myself having a lot of those these days.

Other Wonderful Things

• My Airbnb cat, Blue. The family I’m staying with has three cats, one of which is a British Shorthair named Blue who has taken a liking to my bed. I didn’t grow up with any pets but I’ve always been a cat person. I cannot express how much joy this cat brings me, which is unfortunate since I leave him in three days. All he does is sleep next to me for hours at a time, but his soft purring brings me so much comfort. My sleepy friend.

• My monthly horoscope from BAGGU: There’s a way that you are coming back into what you know. Old projects that were abandoned for a while will dominate your mind again. Set yourself up for as much success as possible. What can be returned will be. There’s reason to celebrate still. In fact, there’s reason for much more than it. Center yourself in the everlasting. There’s a flower and a song ready for you. And so much more than that.”

• Lemonaid Passion Fruit. I have three empty glass bottles of this sitting on my dresser waiting to be recycled. I love this stuff. Lemonade is mostly sparkling here and I have missed it dearly.

• This song and this song and this song.

Thanks for reading. Have a good week!!

<3

Tara