Portrait of the Artist as a Man
June 7, 2020

It’s not about the broken glass.

No justice, no peace.No justice, no peace.

The world keeps breaking apart into smaller and smaller pieces. Just when it feels everything you know has been atomized, we invent new levels of dissolution. I’d be impressed if I had the mental energy to think about it. Right now it’s a struggle to remain positive about anything. And there are positive things happening.

Bloody hands there.Bloody hands there. Bloody hands everywhere..Bloody hands everywhere..

Alyska and I went down town early Saturday morning. We wanted to see what the capitol and state street were like after the protests. We tried to balance between seeing, documenting, and experiencing the streets, the destructoin, and the reason were, as a country, have gotten here.

It was difficult not to feel like a tourist in an art exhibit both because the broken things have been boarded up and the city is coordinating ways to help vent some of the anger through an art campaign. People have been cleaning up.

Commissioned by the city.Commissioned by the city. Please respect.Please respect. Respect reserved.Respect reserved.

Out of pain and atomized glass, there’s something getting built on it. In so ways, this is good and in others, bad. Painting a veneer of over the anguish that has brought us here doesn’t fix anything. But that veneer being an attractive way to present that anguish helps keep people looking at it and thinking about it. And I’m there, taking pictures of that veneer. I wasn’t at the protests and I haven’t said much about the situation - I feel like I’m only tenuously holding my own atoms together thinking about COVID, my and Alyska’s high risk, having started a new job (same company, different role), and the demands of the permaculture garden we’re building. White silence is violence. Fix it here. Change it there.

The property damage is a release valve. People’s lives are under all this and that’s the important piece. Property can be replaced and people cannot.

There’s people under here that shouldn’t be. People live. These were people. Our people.

I hope something greater can come from all of this. I have to hope for that because I can’t really see much beyond this veneer. I can see some of the pieces, maybe see how some of it can fit together, but there’s a lot of fragmented stuff out there to bring back together.

Say their names.Say their names. Love trumps.Love trumps. Love matters.Love matters.


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