Card 35, Writing Down the Bones: When you see a person experiencing homelessness holding a sign on the corner, what do you think, feel, do? Tell me about one specific person.
Well, this is a big one, isn’t it? No going softly into a Weds morning. I remember various homeless people we’ve talked to, but there’s one in particular who stands out.
We were in New Orleans. It’s an unusual city in so many ways. It’s a place of excess, of partying, bars, sex, and magic. It’s also a place where people live and work just like everyone else. It’s not a wealthy, sparkling city. It’s about as real as it gets in many ways.
We were wandering one night. We’d gone into a great little neighborhood outside the quarter and listened to Jazz and had some nice food. We’d found a small artist’s market and Nic got a tank top from a local artist with a Marie Laveau image. We had a lovely chat with him and some of the other sellers before wandering back toward our hotel.
On the way, on a quieter street, a man was sitting on the sidewalk, surrounded by pieces of art he was selling. His cart was a few feet away; close enough for him to keep an eye on it, but far enough so it wasn’t intrusive as he talked to people.
We stopped and had a good look at the art and started chatting. He told us about living there, about his work, about how his head is never, ever, quiet, but the art means he has somewhere to put all those things he’s thinking about. He was incredibly talented, and we were drawn to a particular piece done in black and white. It’s swarming with imagery. There are big things you can see easily, and then you go down, down, down, through layers of faces, animals…and pain. I think there’s a lot of pain in it, but the beauty of what he did is undeniable.
We bought it, paying more than the paltry sum he asked for. It hangs in the entryway of our house, and I still stop and scan it when I’m waiting for Nic (because I’m usually ready first). It reminds me of a special night and a special person.
What do I feel when I see homelessness? Rage. How do we let this happen? How can we let our fellow humans fall to the wayside like this? How is it possible to have a Tent City in LA, which is so populated now they deliver mail to it? I feel deep, deep sorrow, and gratitude for what I’ve got. More than once I could have been there; so many of us are just a pay check away from selling whatever we can to get food and shelter.
Well. That was a deep way to enter my morning. But it’s a nice memory, too. I wonder how our New Orleans artist is doing?
Brey Willows 
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