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On the morning of August 12, 2020 – exactly a year ago – we are sketching & painting as a trio: 

Nicky, Laura and me, distanced and masked, up on the scaffold. We are happy that Tomye is visiting; she sits on a chair close by, in the shade of my orange tree near the gate. With a cup of tea I made with herbs from my garden. She, too, has been painting with us a few times, but after having fainted in the heat of midday sun a couple of weeks ago, I do not allow her to continue this strenuous work. She ended up fine and recovered quickly. Also, by now the scaffold is built and not so easy to climb for an elderly person. Too bad, because Tomye’s calligraphy is exquisite, she is such a skilled artist. The scaffold makes our work now much easier on the legs; we do not have to struggle with standing on the steep incline to the garage doors.

Stories and silence are floating through the air. By-passers and their dogs stop for a chat and petting session; “old-timers” exchange news with us. And newcomers slow their cars and honk, some park mid-street, jump out excitedly, take photos, talk a bit, and roar on. Neighbors comment on the progress. Bikers and runners give us thumbs up, or shout out praise.

This morning I am content, and relieved. My “crazy” idea was born May 30th – with the pandemic, George Floyd’s horrendous killing by police, the uprisings & protests world wide going on, it was not times as usual. It was time to dare doing things out of the ordinary. As artists we respond. But to turn my garage doors into a memorial for public view could have gone wrong – it was risky. How would it be received? With acceptance or hostility? Angels were needed. Things had to fall into place and manifest, and they did.

Today, August 12, 2020, I finally feel that the project is taking shape in ways I have been envisioning, designing, and hoping for, and then some more: community is being created, honoring and reflection are taking place, history is discussed, dialogues are ignited, education is happening, and the look of the mural is starting to show its structure and variation in an organic rhythm that is intriguing and pleasing to the eye – it pulls you in. Grace abound. And all this in a North Berkeley Hills neighborhood, an unlikely place for a Black Lives Matter mural that is permanent, not temporary. I feel somewhat surprised, and very grateful for the community all around that participates and accepts a Memorial reminding us of sad realities, as well as history, that must be faced in order to be changed. 

And just as that work must be going on, the mural is still going on...

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