I last posted 8 weeks ago. At the time of my last post, the world which existed seven weeks before seemed like another lifetime ago. At that point, I had gone to see an exhibit at the MIA (Minneapolis Institute of Arts) since it seemed like the last opportunity to do something like that for awhile. Two days later, my household decided that it was time to shelter in place. The official call to do so in Minnesota came less than 1 week later.
For much of the last 4 weeks, Covid has been the least of my concerns. In fact for a period of time, I did not have the capacity to have any thoughts or concerns about Covid. The only impact it had was that I continued to do the things which had already become habit such wearing a mask to go to a store.
I feel like I was a different person than I was 4 weeks ago, when George Floyd was killed in Minneapolis.
Nothing compares to the horror of his killing at the hands of police officers staffed from the precinct which is supposed to serve and protect the area which includes my neighborhood. When I say that I feel like a different person that's not all bad. I need to be a different person and we need a different world where systematic racism gets addressed and the nature of policing changes.
When I look back, it seems like a lot has changed in the past month. The day after George Floyd was killed, the headline of the local newspaper was not about his death nor was it even on the front page. At this point, I don't recall if it was even mentioned. I don't think that would happen today. At the same time, not enough has changed. One colossal failure is that the state legislature recently adjourned from a special session without addressing police reforms.
I am a different person in other ways, as well. The subsequent mishandling by the Minneapolis Police Department of the mostly peaceful protests at the beginning of all of this made a bad situation even worse. At a neighborhood meeting which occurred later in that week, we are told that, as a neighborhood (and for the most part across the city), we were essentially on our own since we could not count on there being enough law enforcement or firefighters to provide protection. We had to form our own overnight watches to protect our own neighborhoods.
The preparations we were advised to take included taking everything out of the yard, including garbage and recycling bins, which could be used as a flammable or projectile. We put everything into the garage, while still leaving one car unencumbered enough to use if we needed to flee with the cats. We set up garden hoses, so they would be accessible and ready. We packed several back packs with clothes and essential documents and when night came, we locked up the cats with cat carriers in the room, so we'd be ready if we needed to leave. Prior to it getting dark, we would search the yard for caches of flammable liquids stashed in bottles or water bottles and turn on lights both inside and outside the house.
During the day, there was a neighborhood meeting to attend, information to disseminate to neighbors, and a watch schedule to coordinate. At night, we took turns being on the front porch all night with lights and noisemakers along with many of our neighbors. The neighborhood kept in touch using social media. This went on for awhile.
I live on a main thoroughfare, so what I saw on my front porch when I was keeping watch during the night was mostly people going from one place to another. This was while there was an overnight curfew in place, so there should have been limited activity. With road closures to make it harder for people to get around, our street had a lot of traffic. It is chilling to see things like the same truck trolling slowing down the street with no lights on, no license plate, and hard to see materials in the truck bed and hear through social media that they are making their way throughout the neighborhood.
It was nothing compared to what people experienced who live closer to Lake Street, but it was still very, very frightening. It also is nothing compared to the tragedy of George Floyd's death.
All of this is exhibit A of white privilege when I say that I have much less trust in the institutions and systems which are supposed to protect and enhance the lives of people.
I feel more than a little ashamed that it took such a horrific act for me to wake up.
This blog is mostly for art, so I don't plan on documenting or exploring any of this further here. At the same time, I had to write this to acknowledge and document a little bit of what happened. It's too big to ignore.
With that, I don't mean any disrespect or to diminish what I just wrote, but I also want to get back to writing about art. One side effect of the pandemic is that my art-making got put aside. Several days after I got back to a normal sleep schedule, I started the last ever session of
Roz's online class, Drawing Practice. She graciously allowed former students to join this last session for free. She is upfront and clear about her expectations that you do your work and that you follow through on your commitment to keep up in class. I was hoping that it would bring me the focus to get back to making art again and it has. Going forward, I will get back to writing about that.
