Washington, DC 2017
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From the moment I walked into the Amtrak station and saw the sea of pink pussy hats ready to board the train to Washington, DC, I knew that January 21, 2017, would be a day like no other. Boarding the train, the hordes of mothers and daughters, sisters and cousins, long-term and new-found friends bonded immediately. The energy, laughter and kickass spirit were palpable. We were kindred spirits and we were on this incredible journey together.
I met my dear college chum at Union Station and spent the night in her Capitol Hill condo. The next morning we joined her daughter and son and their friends for a send-off breakfast. We were pumped and ready⏤ready for a day of marching, protesting, laughing, sharing stories, and waving banners. And what a day it was.
When we arrived at the starting point of the march, it had already morphed into a giant centipede stretching in all directions. Streets and signs could not contain the enthusiasm and sheer size of the crowd. People of all ages, ethnic backgrounds, genders, and religions joined together to stand up for this most basic principle of equality and human rights. Even some of the police patrol donned pink pussy hats and rallied us on. A spirit of caring and kindness, pride and humility, acceptance and inclusion ruled the day and made this march one of the most emotionally powerful experiences of my life. At the end of the day, I was exhausted and exhilarated. And for the first time in a while, I could believe that there was hope for women’s rights/human rights.
When I returned from my journey, I knew I had to commemorate and celebrate the march in some way. A day later, I found myself creating this painting.