Florida, places, political action, society

2017 A Day Without a Woman

I participated in A Day Without A Woman earlier this year on March 8th, International Women’s Day. I initially learned about it from the Women’s March group, then read a Facebook post arguing they were co-opting it, and the International Women’s Strike organization was the real originator of the event.

As with the Women’s March itself, there were criticisms that A Day Without A Woman was an action only women with privilege could take. The concept behind the event was to show how much women do through our absence. This excludes women without jobs, and women with jobs that would fire them if they took the day off.

Although I agreed with some of the criticisms, I decided to still participate. I believe imperfect action is usually better than no action at all. I believe it’s better to try to live in line with my beliefs and attempt to change things than to accept the status quo simply because I’m too afraid to make mistakes or be criticized.

I was on an email list from the St. Petersburg, Florida Women’s March, and from that, found out about an A Day Without A Woman event on the beach. I drove out to St. Pete and stopped at a raw vegan restaurant to have dinner alone before continuing on to the beach.

day without a woman crowd

The day felt very peaceful. I switched my hours around at work that week, which means I didn’t technically “strike,” so I know¬†my participation in A Day Without A Woman was more for me than for any external effect. Still, I’m glad I took part in it. Like other political activities I’ve participated in, it was rejuvenating and helped me feel more optimistic that the world isn’t as dire as it can feel when I’m viewing the news from behind a screen.

The crowd was joyful. I learned that a Quaker activist group organized the event. A large group of mostly women gathered in groups to spell out “RESIST” with our bodies. It surprised me that, near my letter, at least (“T”), men were organizing by telling women where to sit or stand. I’m sure they are kind, wonderful people, but isn’t that a little ironic?

day without a woman beach

I chatted with a couple people, and everyone was so happy. As with other events, it seemed different people were there for different reasons–some to protest Trump, some because of the threat to healthcare, some for immigrants’ rights, etc. I think the common thread was a desire to feel community, kindness, goodness, and caring.

If you want to read more about this event, here’s an article in Creative Loafing that I found while writing this blog post.

As I reflect on 2017 and look to 2018, I hope to participate in more events. I realize that I often feel disconnected, like I’m not part of a community. It’s time to change that.

(All photos by me except for the drone photo, which I found on the Quaker Huddle Facebook page.)

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art, Florida, places

I met Peter Max

peter max One of my highlights of 2017 was meeting pop artist Peter Max. I went on twitter one Friday night and saw that he was going to be at a gallery in Sarasota the next day, so I went for it and drove out there.

peter max

The gallery was small, and there was no cost to get in. Peter sat in a chair and had a line of about five people waiting to speak to him.

I have a large Peter Max tattoo on my upper arm, and was equal parts excited to show him and nervous that he wouldn’t like it. He’s in his 80s and a super famous artist, so I didn’t know if he’d consider a tattoo of his work a compliment or distortion.

I walked around the gallery admiring the art for a while. I couldn’t afford any of it. A guy gave out free champagne in the back of the room. I had a couple glasses.

peter max artThe other people walking around browsing the art were very friendly. A few of them noticed my tattoo and stopped me to talk about it. I was the youngest person there, save the guy giving out champagne. There were definitely hippies in the crowd, including a man with a braided beard. I overheard another person say, “He taught my yoga class this morning.” A woman came up to me, took her backpack off, then took her sweatshirt off to reveal another sweatshirt with Peter Max art on it. “This was made in the 80s!” she said.

It was a fun scene.

Before I got up my courage to stand in line to talk to Peter Max, his assistant spotted my tattoo and called me over. She was also the one who took the photos of us–I was nervous about being rude and hadn’t planned on asking for photos.

Peter said he loved my tattoo. He couldn’t stop staring at it. He asked who the tattoo artist was, and marveled at what a good job the artist had done. (Note: the tattoo artist was my high school friend Chris, who works at Maximum Tattoo in Wheeling, Illinois.)

I stuck around while Peter Max talked to a few other people. It was clear he has memory problems, but he maintained a happy, kind attitude the entire time. I kept thinking I’d like to age that way. Each new person who approached him had some sort of story of how they’d met him years ago, or how his art affected their life. My favorite was the couple celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. They brought in a gigantic painting, asking if he could write a note on the back. The husband teared up when he explained the painting was a wedding gift they’d bought for themselves with money they’d received at the wedding.

 

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