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The day my studio drowned

I had some real trouble getting to sleep last night.

Yesterday, the building that holds my art studio went up in flames. Firefighters couldn’t let me in there, but they were able to grab one large work-in-progress and assure me that all my stuff in containers should be fine. I took the painting home in the back of my van. It smells like smoke.

Like I said, I haven’t been up to see yet, but I figure my losses amount to a junky laptop, a new-ish printer, a whole stack of paper and canvases and boards for painting on. Most likely a few of my recently-finished works, but they’re not a huge loss.

I’ll keep finding ways of being creative, of making art, of adding to the beauty. I barely lost anything.

I have family who’ve got nothing to lose.

I’m talking about the Syrians, the Sudanese, the Somalians, the Iraqis – the Chibok, the Kaka’i, the Muslims, the Christians, the Yazidis – it doesn’t even make sense to separate these humans this way, because they’re all HUMANS like me. Family.

You know that gnawing feeling in your stomach when it’s been a while since your last meal? In your throat when you’re thirsty? In your limbs when the plans you made got cancelled or burned or soaked in firehose water, or you missed the bus?

I don’t have to keep on. You know where I’m going with this.

All I wanna say is, if you feel bad at all for me, please take a moment to give. $5 to a Human Rights non-profit. Print a poster for a cause. Share a campaign online. Encourage those who have intentionally stepped out of their comfortable homes and schedules and safety zones to make a difference in this world. Fund their work.

So we can sleep better tonight.

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