I don't know what Trayvon Martin's last words were. I don't know what Tamir Rice said either. I wonder what Breonna Taylor talked about before going to bed that night. I do know what Eric Garner and George Floyd were saying before they were killed by police. I can't breathe. When I started painting masks this spring, it was a way to use up a surplus of cardboard boxes in my house and to do something concrete. Around mask 15, I had this idea to paint James Baldwin after seeing a portrait of him that I liked, and because I want everyone to read him until we live in a time where his words seem like history rather than words needed every day. Then I tried my hand at Frida Kahlo even though I have no illusions that I can manifest her in portraiture better than she did herself. The news crept in, and I learned that Ahmaud Arbery was shot, then Breonna Taylor, and now George Floyd was suffocated, and others who have been murdered without witness or video proof whose names I may never hear or learn. I don't watch the videos in fear that I will become numb to the visual of watching a fellow human be murdered. Repetition is not always a good thing. And the list starts in my head of Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, who am I forgetting? John Crawford III. Who did I forget to name? Names matter. Who did I forget? I painted Breonna Taylor, and I don't think I got her quite right. I put a halo over her head. I got that right. I am thinking about whether to paint George Floyd, and then I wonder how will I keep up with the list. It's as if I think painting will stop the murders. I have this memory that keeps going through my head. It is from July 13, 2013. It is the day that Trayvon Martin's murderer was allowed to walk free and there was another news story that was filling my Facebook feed. In Charlottesville, several young white women won their day in court against the police officers who had tried to stop them. The women were coming from a meeting about sexual assault and were on edge. The police officers were in plainclothes and banged on the window of the car to get the women to stop. I don't remember why, it doesn't really matter now. The women in their fear did not stop. They were not shot and the court found them not guilty. There is more to this story, and I am really happy that it ended in the way that it did. That day all of my white friends were posting this story and celebrating the court's decision. I live near Charlottesville, so this makes sense. However, there was a contrast in the feed. All of my black and brown friends were posting in grief that another black boy's death had gone unpunished. I don't remember a single post from a white friend about Trayvon Martin. I don't think I posted anything about either story, but I remember the day. I remember being really troubled that none of my white friends were posting about the killer of a black boy walking free. Why didn't we? I also remember being completely frozen by what my role should be. I did not know how to process what I witnessed from my little corner. I keep working on that. I still don't know what Breonna Taylor talked about before going to bed that night. I do know that I will run out of gold for halos if we don't figure out how to listen when someone tells us that he can't breathe. “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time. ” – James Baldwin
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A week ago I was worried about lots of tasks on my to-do list. That list has been abandoned and most of those tasks forgotten. They seemed so essential once upon a time.
What does it mean to be essential? I am a teacher. Is my job essential? If it is not, how is my ego dealing with that realization. Jobs that seem essential to me these days are those in the post office, sanitation departments, and grocery stores and their supply chain. Those are the ones I am noticing a lot these days. But then I remember that I really need those invisible services such as electricity and running water. Definitely essential. Of course, the healthcare system and scientists are essential, but not in my direct line of sight and daily living. If I can’t see your profession, is it essential? My relationships are all more essential than ever. I find myself reaching across decades to dust off old friendships and reconnect, holding on tighter to the ones I have developed in more recent years. Other than food, shelter, clean water, and friendships, what else am I finding essential these days? Open spaces, spaces to walk in, beauty, card and board games, jigsaw puzzles, internet, books, humor. How will this list change during the next few weeks and what will remain essential, I wonder. As I scrolled through my Facebook and Twitter feeds I started to believe that the complexities of life and their resolution could be boiled down to an image and catchy phrase. In the midst of a particularly complex year, I wondered if perhaps I had somehow missed the meme that was meant for me. It was in the search for this elusive simplicity that I came up with my three W's: walks, whisky, and wine. Simple and catchy, easy to remember. I love an alliteration, and they work in alphabetical order. The trick was keeping the three in balance. But then things unraveled as they sometimes do. I won't go into the details here since some of it involves people beyond myself and this is neither the time or place. And honestly, who wants to read about any of that? Those who need to know, know, the rest of you fill in the blank space with your unraveling story or stories of your choice. Suffice to say, if I could start my version of 2016 in, say, August, I'd be happy to let most of January - July go. While were at it, most of 2015 didn't need to happen either. Unsurprisingly, the balance of my W's did not last long. The wine and whisky overcame the walks and three W's became two. Two W's does not resonate quite as well as three. With time I discarded the W's and tried the ABC's of alcohol, bagels and chocolate although not usually all at once. No alliteration, but still keeping things in dictionary order. In case you were wondering, I don't think the W's or ABC's resolved much at all. This time, I'll start from scratch and avoid the alphabet. I like jigsaw puzzles and was pleased when I saw that my sister had given me one for Christmas. A perfect winter time activity. But this one must be revenge for something I did to her when we were younger. And yes, the title is "Hundreds & Hundreds of Pencils." I know I was cruel in a hundred of small and big ways over the years. What moment exactly am I paying for to deserve this? I know I could return it or exchange it like any sane person would do. But that would take effort and it isn't like it is a piece of clothing that I would have to wear. This is just a jigsaw puzzle. In its defense, the puzzle does have some good shapes which may make the task doable. I have already taken it out of the box and have the edges put together. I have only once given up on a puzzle and it was all blue and white waves. (I should know the name of that image too.) Don't plan on giving up on this one, but my daughter may learn a whole new vocabulary before I complete it. I will have to forgive my sister and will do so once I open up this bottle of wine with the lovely new fancy wine opener that she also gifted me. |
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