By Theresa Keegan
Members of Third Street Writer’s group, a nonprofit dedicated to promoting writing in Laguna Beach, recently visited the art display “Piece-ful Protest”. This is an essay from that outing.
Amid the stitches, the weaving and fabric, the stories emerge.
Reflecting back on me as if I were looking into a mirror of societal collapse. The discord. The hate. The oppression. All lined up and staring at me as I wander through Bridge Hall at the Neighborhood Congregation Church and view “Piece-ful Protest” by Allyson Allen.
This idyllic, light-filled room with glistening hard wood floors is welcoming what others did not want to see – did not want to confront. Those who prefer blinders over vision. This beautiful exhibit was removed from the walls on the town’s bank because it made clients uncomfortable. But this is exactly what art should be: An offering of new perspectives, an opportunity to link our shared, common humanity in all its beauty and pain.
As I walk and look, I empathize with the Native Americans who’ve walked the Trail of Tears, disheartened how our country devolved to remove its original residents.
I stare at the beautiful, black silken stomach, stretched into a thickened orb. The mother’s hand cupped into a universal caress of the life within.
I read the list of man’s scars cast upon the land. The atrocities that women still suffer because of their sex.
I am reminded that the homeless digging through trash for food are people, whose veins pump blood, whose stomachs ache with emptiness and whose hearts break.
Visitors, white, middle-class, middle-aged, and mostly female, wind their way past the exhibit.
“Powerful, isn’t it?”
“Amazing.”
“I’ve never seen that done before.”
“I once had a history class about native American people. After it I was so mad at the American government – how could we do that?”
These quilts reflect not just the chaos of COVID-19, but the constant crises within our world. I wish I could climb into the fabric and, stitch by stitch undue the injustices perpetrated on the vulnerable – as if doing so could just unravel the past.
Instead, I look. I despair. I remind myself that those with much have an obligation to those with less.
But justice—this huge concept of who has what—access to food, water, opportunity, the right to walk in the street unafraid (especially from those who are supposed to protect them) this concept is too big. If found it will burst through the walls of this church hall. It would be a tsunami crashing all around.
And then another group of middle-aged, middle-class ladies wander in.
And as they stare at the intricate weaves of multi-colored fabric forming a blending face and a border that reads “Racism is the pandemic” a woman chortles.
“I remember Jim used to say (name of ethnic group deleted by author) are thugs, not people.” A smirking laugh erupts. “I told him not to say that.”
And on they move, to the next quilt— to the next captured injustice.
And to my shame, I did not say anything. I did not explain how repeating offensive comments, even just to criticize them, is not okay. How the words we use, the things we say, the choices we make, every day, they matter. I know silence equals consent. And I was silent.
The issues are so overwhelming.
Incarceration. Rape. Hate – one red hat at a time. Immigration. Racism.
I am grateful Allen addresses these atrocities—stitch by stitch.
Now it’s time to do my part to shut down that hate and injustice—word by word.
Theresa is a freelance writer who marvels at the wondrous, thought-provoking art that is found throughout Laguna Beach. When not attending Third Street workshops she can be found paddling on the Pacific Ocean.
Editor’s Note: Allyson Allen’s showing of “Piece-ful Protest” continues through April 24. It is open from noon to 3 p.m. Thursdays through Sundays at Bridge Hall, Neighborhood Congregation Church, 340 St. Anne’s Dr.
