This is the story that won't go away, and that's a good thing.
We met Paul and his parents on a sunny day while working at my art studio. Father worked nearby at a local eatery and mom was a home-maker. They had a gentle demeanor as we spoke of the neighborhood and life’s blessings. The kid was respectful and engaging with that sparkle in his eyes that all children have. My daughter kept that sparkle also but she was now in here twenties having returned home from college. My studio had a big roll-up door that opened to an alleyway where neighbors strolled and cyclists rode to avoid traffic on busy streets. The big door opened to reveal a spacious workshop filled with the makings of a lively atelier where art is born. Adjoining the studio was an art gallery where we had cultural events for the community at large. Having been here for nearly 3 decades made my place a known destination. Many first-time visitors would comment that it was a magical place that invited the curious to explore as it was brimming with color and shape and tools for making stuff. It was also a bohemian messy place, hence the name Swampspace.
The Paulmobile! an arts & craft project 2019
This innocuous story took a wild and alarming turn for the worse when on a seemingly unremarkable afternoon we were confronted with a malice that can only be explained as a chaotic clash of cosmic vibrations. It was also a test of our social institutions and our collective inability to care for everyone. What I mean by this is that as we must care for all the children, we must also care for adults who are deeply damaged by adversity from a myriad of cultural failings that plague modernity. The details of that fateful day are now the stuff of TV news, law enforcement and government bureaucracy. The reporting is accurate and the narrative is helpful. For many viewers I was indeed the regular guy, a hero on the perennial feel-good story at the end of every nightly broadcast; cautionary, upbeat and motivational. This was a happy ending that made the world a bit less dreary, a speed bump on the road to hopelessness and nihilism. The offender was a known person, a homeless female with mental illness. I often wonder what her motivations were. It is not a stretch to guess that unscrupulous actors would recruit homeless folks to abduct and hand over a child to a waiting car nearby. On that fateful day, she was marching forcefully with the kid in her grips to a desolate street one block away from the gallery near the on-ramp to I-95. I could not live with that scenario. Rest assured, I would do the same again if needed.
Paul attempting to meditate during the installation of the exhibition CLAIRE Victims of Cancer.
I saw Paul and his parents several times after that. He was enrolled in an organized after-school activity. They have since moved away. The offender was apprehended and placed in psychiatric custody of the state.
Today, I struggle to understand how it is that the growing problem of affordable housing, homelessness and mental health in American is low on the totem of looming concerns such as affordable health care, a crashing economy, climate change or social justice. Perhaps the archipelago of the homeless worldwide just isn’t a pretty picture that a dominant cult of luxury is prepared to appreciate.
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