Edward Hopper’s ‘Nighthawks’ (1942) depicts an all-night diner in New York City. Half the canvas is dominated by a dark, empty storefront and intersecting streets, the other half by the well-lit interior of the diner and the four lonely figures that temporarily occupy it. It’s difficult to pinpoint how and why we understand that they are lonely. Perhaps, it’s the way they are hunched over the counter. Or maybe, it’s because no one seems to be making eye contact with another. The waiter does appear to look at a male customer, but because of the latter’s shadowy eyes, we are not sure if there is an interaction taking place. Or maybe, it’s because we have all experienced loneliness and know what it looks like.

Hopper (1882-1967) is a celebrated American painter of loneliness. He didn’t intend to be so. According to him, he was a painter interested in capturing how light falls on architectural elements. Human figures were generally an afterthought. But in being faithful to his proposed intention, he gave us masterpieces, capturing human alienation framed by country porches and the city’s glass windows.

There is nothing imaginative about Hopper’s paintings. He presents us with ordinary spaces — gas stations and diners — and everyday scenes such as reading in the chair car of a train or sewing by the window. His figures exist in a silence that has nothing to do with the fact that they are made of paint. They neither engage with those around them nor with us, the viewer. They exist as markers of the function of a space. The diner is there not so that the figures can grab a coffee or a slice of pie whenever they feel like it. Instead, for Hopper, the figures exist as night-time coffee drinkers so that he could paint spacious diners.

Last month, Britain appointed a minister for loneliness. The decision comes in the wake of the 2017 report published by the Jo Cox Commission on Loneliness that pointed out that nine million Britons, or 14 per cent of the UK’s population, often or always feel lonely. New parents, disabled people, caregivers, refugees and senior citizens are the most vulnerable groups, with 200,000 elderly reporting that they have not had a conversation with a friend or relative in more than a month.

Cox was the member of parliament who was shot at and stabbed by a racist, mentally ill man a few days before the Brexit vote in June 2016. She was a vociferous advocate of the UK remaining within the European Union and her murderer is said to have shouted, “This is for Britain. Britain will always come first,” as he attacked Cox.

Cox had identified loneliness as a serious problem plaguing her constituents and wanted to “start a conversation” about it and to combat it. Lamentably, her murderer was described in police reports as being depressed and a loner. British Prime Minister Theresa May and her government claim that they are honouring Cox’s legacy by appointing a minister for loneliness. The appointee, Tracey Crouch, is under-secretary of state for sport and civil society, and loneliness will fall under this broad category. Critics, however, consider the appointment hypocritical, noting that the Tories have drastically cut funding for public libraries, childcare programmes, and are unlikely to allocate any real government resources for the new loneliness department.

Back in India, we are eager to dismiss emotional health issues as being problems peculiar to the West. We fail to understand that collectivism is not an antidote to isolation, that surrounding yourself with friends and family does not ensure mental well-being. Anyone who saw images of Rajput women brandishing swords and bragging about committing mass suicide over a film would recognise that delusions can be a collective experience.

Every day, thousands of us endure life-threatening commutes to be on time for dead-end jobs. Many of us spend every waking and sleeping moment confined to our homes taking care of a dependant — an ageing parent or a disabled child. Loneliness is forced upon us, even though we are not isolated. The fact that we continue to perform our roles as breadwinners and caregivers, as best as we can, is not a sign of resilience. Sometimes it’s about denial but often it’s simply about not having a choice.

Our conversation about loneliness — it’s about time we had one — has to include a better quality of life. It’s not enough to create pockets of relief — parks, museums, community centres — but to think about every aspect of how space around us is designed and constructed. Something as simple as having an even pavement that does not have metal rods sticking out of it and that is not be used as a driveway by cyclists and motorcyclists can mean the elderly and disabled can lead a more normal life. Infrastructure and policies need to be designed keeping human well-being in mind. We shouldn’t be afterthoughts or mere markers of the function of a space.

 

Blessy Augustine is an art critic based in New Delhi

Twitter: @blessyaugust

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