TheBurg

Ryan Spahr Ryan opened the back gate and started clearing toys from view of the sidewalk. eir partner, Morgan, wrangled the younger of their two kids, who was blazing through the back door with a squirt gun. Shelter in place, it seems, is a particular flavor of challenging when you have kids. "I'm not really making any art," Ryan says. Truthfully though, they have still been able to squeeze out a few pieces: a series of 21st Century Gibson Girls, "erotic frog art" for a friend's book project, a few #quarantinedrawingchallenge pieces, a new label for Elementary Coffee, and a few other ongoing projects. But they're just used to doing so much more. Ryan has been baking copious amounts of bread, though. It's a tactile, creative outlet since they can't carve out a lot of studio time. With their partner still working full time and the kids not in school, Ryan can have their hands in making bread and still be able to engage as a parent. It's also their way to seize the means of production and cut out industrial yeast. Ryan's even made a few loaves for other folks and jests that they're starting a mega-micro-bakery. Caitlin Graci Caitlin sat perched on the stoop outside of her downtown apartment with a cup of coffee. Bare Bones eatre Ensemble, the theater company of which she is the founder and artistic director, is in a unique position compared to other theater companies. ey don't have to worry about the strain a physical space incurs during the pandemic's economic burden. But, even so, live performance theater will be drastically impacted for the foreseeable future and perhaps years to come. Companies of actors will have to stay small and, for now, live audiences cannot exist. Caitlin is patiently moving forward with table readings over Zoom calls, virtual meetings for her company to check in with each other, plans for plays and musicals with two- to six-person casts, and bouncing around new ideas to bring shows to life. e dramatic shift in dynamic of performance is both devastating and exciting for Caitlin. She's excited to rise to the challenge and problem-solve logistics, think outside the box, as Bare Bones has been known to do. But it is also apropos to mourn the loss of the live audience. Part of the magic of theater is the sync of heartbeats and the shared experience. Hanniel Sindelar/Mister Treats Hanniel lounges on the green patio furniture at the base of the deck covered with manicured, potted plants and a small antique clown statue. It's a stark comparison to seeing Hanniel in their drag character, Mister Treats. e loss of work and the shelter-in-place have presented a range of challenges for the freelance artist and Sundae Best co-founder and artistic director. With theater shows and costume design projects on hiatus during this time, all of Hanniel's focus has shifted to safely moving Sundae Best and Fruit Boots, the monthly punk drag show, to virtual platforms, creating video drag and burlesque performances, exploring those characters deeper, pinup photography and mask making. All of these things simultaneously lend to giving care to themself, their partner, their drag family and wider community during the time of crisis. O ur lives and collective consciousness have been changed through the pandemic, and it's difficult to reflect on what that really means right now, while still experiencing what will surely ripple for decades. But through the intersection of creative practice and community politic, area artists among us are adapting and creating and coping. ARTISTS IN THIS TIME BY DANI FRESH

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