Talking to D.C.

I haven’t picked up a brush in months. Our house is full. One of our sons, daughter-in-law, 2 grands, ages 6 and 12, and their dog are living in the 900 sq ft downstairs apartment of our house. I like these people so much and am happy they’re here. They, however, are longing to leave as soon as a house of their liking and budget appears on the horizon. We are longing with them.

I’ve been finding it difficult to ‘drop in’ to a painting practice with any kind of consistency over many, many weeks, holidays aside. The interruptions are many and often and welcomed and delightful. But along the way, I have been absorbing the atmosphere of our times.  

I picked up where I left off, months ago, on 3 small paintings. I was making good progress and enjoying the process. Then, possibly something in the work in front of me reminded me to call Mr. Tom Cotton, my US Senator from Arkansas, at his Washington DC office.  I had a few questions for him. Austin answered the phone. Tom wasn’t there. DC was snowed in and Austin lives 4 blocks away. So, we chatted.  I expressed my concerns for the rhetoric and actions of my elected guy. Austin asked me for specifics.  I gave them. I want him to ‘do’ better now that he, Tom, according to Austin, ‘knows’ better. I encouraged Tom to say publicly what Austin hears him say in private. Austin assured me that Tom’s relationship with the former president is complicated and nuanced. O, just like all relationships?  

Somewhere in there, Austin said that Tom believes his job is to ‘fight the democrats.’ I let it go, but it bothered me, so I called back a bit later for clarification. He tried to clarify. It didn’t help much. It was discouraging.

Then I said this: Austin, I want Mr. Cotton to invite Mr. Dick Durbin for dinner.  He chortled. Not a guffaw, but close. He said they are not fond of each other. However, he wanted me to be clear on the fact that Mr. Cotton is willing to work across the aisle—but, likely not willing to have dinner. Hmm. I asked Austin if he’d consider such a thing. (Chuckles.) He said he’d have to “up” his cooking skills.  I told him it wasn’t about the food. Order out. Look the guy in the eye and ask him about him—his partner, and kids and family, and wounds and pain and stress. And tell him yours.  Austin listened. I think. Who knows? I liked this 30-year-old ‘kid’ on the phone. I thanked him for his time. He was gracious. As I said good-bye, without thinking, I said, “Love you.”

 It’s just like me to end a phone call that way.  O well.  I hope he felt loved. 

I returned to these paintings and realized that what they were saying to me the whole time was the difficulty of connecting. There’s always a gulf. Obstacles. Nuances. Complications. False starts. Poor starts. Fear. Anger. Distrust. We’re all in this together. Mercy.

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