Hunger
I found a piece of art
It was alive
It was on the corner of Mack and Third within a famished corridor.
It was she
Somebody’s mother
Somebody’s daughter
Somebody’s granddaughter
What lured her to this corner? Standing in the cold begging for a nickel, a dime, a dollar or whatever you can provide. What story does she have to tell?
As she stands there she’s seen as somebody being pimped
By drugs
By liquor
By the “give to me” syndrome. You give and she gives back.
She gives all she gets to some storeowners who despise her existence, but will take her change and her dollars to supply her with the things that will have running back in for more.
Her identity is lost. Her sense of significance diminished. She asks me “Why ugly ole me” “Why not you” I respond…She smiles with a childlike shame for not thinking more of herself.
She doesn’t see the art that I see. I see a piece of art that will unfortunately, be analyzed as a circumstance rather than a person well after she’s gone. In this moment I know that a survivor exists deep within her soul, but has no voice. Covered in dirt, dirt that could help keep some of us clean if she only had a voice. I long for her story, but is she confident enough to give me truth while under the influence of life?
The moment comes to an end; she speaks of her daughter who is in college. I cap the lens back onto my camera and listen and she asks for a dollar for the bus, I know it’s not the truth, but I don’t care. I give her 3 and hope that she does something different. However, before I move my car into reverse my friend points to her as she without shame quickly scrambles into the liquor store. She asks me why? I simply smile…it was the art and in silence we drive.
At that moment she had yet to be fully framed in my mind and placed on my wall, but as I sit in retrospect she is now centered in my soul along with fathers and children who walk the streets hungry. On the surface it looks as though they only have a taste for handouts or their next fix, but just like anyone in life they are seeking a piece of self worth and purpose. As I stare at her photo and glance at the surface of her actions I can only ask. What incident from her past is she suppressing?
February 27th, 2007 at 11:02 am
This is a very insightful view. If this woman were to be in a sober mental state and were to read this she would appreciate that her inner being was being scoped and not just the surface of her present state of being. Think everyone at some point has pondered these thoughts after confronting someone in this woman’s position. Never thought of the homeless as a form of art but interesting of you to do so. Great article!
February 27th, 2007 at 4:47 pm
Wow, that was amazing. It’s great that you acknowledge the soul of these people rather that what we (as “normal people”) tend to think they stand . I was truly touched by your blog and all I can say is “ENCORE”! Thanks Imani!
-missafrica