FEEL, WOKE. oil on canvas. 16” X 20”. 2018

I’m awake, are you?

My eyes were opened abruptly. A visit to a quaint section of my hometown (Cleveland, OH) was met with disillusionment. It was around July 4th and the flag draped nearly every home and shop. Instead of feeling safe, I felt betrayed.

The nostalgic nod to a Norman Rockwell painting was a stark contrast to the previous night spent attending an outstanding performance of Hamilton. I had known the history I was taught in school wasn’t comprehensive, but things were revealing to be not only lacking, but completely inaccurate.

Erin Gruwell’s book Freedom Writer’s Diary served to inform my discomfort. In the wake of the 1992 brutal death of Rodney King, Gruwell crafted a transformative practice. She reached her students living in situations plagued with despair and racial intolerance by connecting the violence of the street to that of the Holocaust.  

It is now 2026 and the relevance is excruciating. As a cis, white, Jewish female, “not in my name” resonates not only as my response to the Palestinian crisis, but everything we are experiencing. 

I still feel like an artichoke in a washing machine.  I am having a hard time finding which way is up. Tossed and tumbled, each cycle peels back another layer of me in search of my heart and humanity. The process is cleansing.