One of the first things I remember doing, when hearing about the firstlockdown of the pandemic, was sew. An anaesthetist friend had sent me a patternfor a mask that the nurses in her hospital were making. It was called the OlsonMask, named after an American nurse pictured in her Wikipedia profile shotproudly wearing an embroidered Norwegian bunad. Back in the 1930s Olson wrotebooks about how to improvise with everyday things to make equipment for homenursing. She inspired some contemporary nurses who were also making inworkshops in hospitals, this time using laser cutters and 3D printers, and itwas these nurses who designed the Olson Mask. It looked easy enough to make.When I went back to the office to collect some books during one of my allocatedtimeslots, I printed out a few copies of the pattern to take home. Choosing a fabric was easy, the masks would be made from my untouched stashof Liberty prints.
For years, every time I went to London I would ascend thewooden staircases to buy one meter of my favourite seasonal print from thehaberdashery department. Folded neatly in my sewing cupboard were stacks ofroyal blue with spectacles, miniature mice and birds on white backgrounds, andpiles of florals and botanicals. One meter of Tana Lawn Cotton felt like theepitome of small luxury. At the time of the pandemic, we lived in a country that had rather looserestrictions, and the government was at first hesitant about masks. While wereceived messages from our Melbourne friends and family about their 5kmconfinements (the most locked down city in the world!), in Maastricht at leastwe were able to go out and about as we wished. As with most of our non-Dutchfriends though this freedom was uneasy. Negotiating local regulations whileconstantly reading about stricter rules back "home" cast us in anexhausting state of nervous uncertainty. What would keep us safe?
The homemade masks allowed an in-between, a way we could navigate thesedifferent recommendations with a tiny bit of control, in a gorgeous floralprint. We carried the masks everywhere with us, always a few hanging by thedoor, always a few in our bags. We bought coffee filters to insert inside thefabric pockets for extra protection and had a washing ritual at the end of eachweek. One day brought the delightful discovery that our local chocolate shopsold their bonbons in bags with gold metal ties that worked perfectly asnose-bridges in our masks. We couldn't get enough. As each of our local friendsnavigated their own in-between worlds, each with their own sense of how far tostretch or shrink the 1.5 meters distance, we made and washed and wore our Libertymasks. They are hanging in my office at work now, those Liberty masks, a pandemicarchive. Now "educated" on how those homemade masks might not be soprotective, I use the more surgically hygienic, multifiltered and 99.9% barrierversions when we are in confined travel situations, bought in sealed packetsfrom the pharmacy. I miss wearing those Liberty ones.
Images: Anna Harris
