THE IMPORTANCE OF PAINTING BADLY

My handiwork….such as it is. :)

In June 2020, my beautiful eight-year-old daughter, Della sat in my office with tears flowing down her cheek. Since March, Della had been home with me, trying to do Zoom school while I ran a statewide domestic violence and sexual assault program. Her teacher had at one point politely asked me to move my desk out of hearing range from Della’s Zoom school because “maybe rape isn’t a good first-grade topic, Mrs. Rennie.” She was right of course, but by the time the teacher said anything I was too overwhelmed to be properly embarrassed and concerned. It felt like I was trying to help fix the world from a small cubby in a 1200-foot bungalow, home to five people, three dogs, and a cat. (The cat tipped me over; he was a jerk) I just didn’t have the energy to be properly chastised by the teacher’s call.

The world had, it seemed gone crazy in March. Already struggling from the Trump administration's failure to pay grant awards on time, the pandemic crashed into domestic violence service providers like a Tsunami of brutality and pain. There was more need than ever, less capacity due to COVID precautions, and more offenders on the street ( as the police had stopped arresting and lots of domestic violence offenders were let out of jail). Anecdotal reports of women murdered, and staff assaulted punctuated every call.

Staff morale was at an all-time low with already existing tensions ripped wide open by circumstances. Front-line workers (mostly black, brown and/or queer) still had to report to work while the administration (mostly white, straight & CIS women) went home. Complaints to MIOSHA were made by staff daily as were anonymous complaints to board and funders. Years of historical oppression crystallized at the moment America stood still, bringing to the forefront the privilege of those who got to stay home and safe and who had to go in and meet with clients. No amount of COVID precautions, protocols, or processing could erase the hard fact- some people risked death to keep shelters open and some people got to go home and give those front-line workers instructions.

Of course, at the time, it didn’t seem much like a privilege to stay hunched over Zoom calls for over twelve hours a day while trying to get enough money together to keep the doors open, dealing with MIOSHA complaints, and attending endless meetings about COVID safety. At the same time, I was also trying not to say rape too loud when sharing space with an eight-year-old. All of this is a reminder that having privilege doesn’t mean that your life is all skippy just that you can make better, safer choices.

So it was then, that by June, my daughter had had it, with my constant I will play with you soon. Play with you tomorrow. Please just let Mama figure this out. She too was tired, overwhelmed, and fundamentally done with whatever this situation was. Finally, after one last rejection, Della had burst into tears and demanded I paint with her.

I am not a painting type person. I am not good at crafts or all the other cool suburban mom things. While other moms I know could create paper-mache villages, I could not create a paper-mache lean-to save my life. Still, at that moment, I looked at my smart and sensitive daughter and knew I would do anything to take the lost look off her face. I knew too that by canceling all my meetings, I would be confirming everything front-line staff felt about the situation, about my ability to make better choices, and about the unfairness of the disparity. I also at that moment knew that I had been arrogant, I did not make the structure, the pandemic, the everything and no amount of overworking on Zoom meetings would change the reality. I was safe and some of my staff were not.

Now four years later, my daughter and I paint together every week. I have invested in good paints, brushes, and canvases. Della keeps getting better at it- she recently won a first-prize art award for fifth grade. I do not…. feel like my progress has been so dramatic.

Still, in the other parts of my life, in the spots of our world where we keep the light of our true selves-where we touch that which is ineffable- I have learned a different kind of art- one that begins with humility in the face of enormity. Humility and the importance of painting badly.