Dear Friends,
A month or two ago, I needed the state inspection done for my car. I decided to go to the combination state inspection / coffeehouse place up the street. Two birds, one stone. As I am waiting with my latte for the inspection to be done, I observe two small children coloring under the watchful eye of the barista, who appeared to be their older sibling or perhaps their parent. (I’m not great at judging ages.)
“We have to draw a park, but we don’t know how,” the children suddenly wail. Children get that way; something must be accomplished with the utmost urgency, but it’s not important for them to give any context. Their guardian says, “Okay, can you draw swings?” and the children nod and use their crayons to draw swings. “Great, can you draw trees? Can you draw two trees?” The children do this dutifully. “How about some grass?” The children scribble for a while.
“Guess what we did? We drew a park!” At this point, the children lose their shit. “We did it! We didn’t think we could do it! But we did.”
At the two-year mark of the pandemic, sometimes, everything feels like hopeless bullshit. The sheer muchness of it all. People are dying, people are refusing to take this seriously. I don’t know how to make shelters anymore. I don’t know how to make beautiful places. (And to think I wrote this note before Putin’s invasion of Ukraine. Somehow, shelter as a concept is even more precarious.)
But I do know how to draw a swing. Two upside-down U’s, a line on top, two parallel lines hanging down, with a swoosh in the middle. Any color or colors of crayon will do.
It’s a start.
I have to believe in the power of art, in the power of making. I have to believe that we can still, despite everything, be creators.
Here is proof. We are still making things. We are making poems of joy, stories of sorrow, collages of pain, erasures of old letters. And if you feel like you’ve forgotten how to do it yourself, I’ve got a fresh pack of crayons.
Best,
Nadia Arioli
