Pink Freedom I

I used very tiny shells that were found and kept since 1977 to create this gentle and lovely piece. As a high school student, I worked summers in housekeeping at a hospital. I had to wear a pink uniform every day and was addressed as the “Little Girl in Pink.” No name. Invisible. I learned a lot about the different natures of people in the many jobs I worked to save to pay for college. I could not bring myself to have any pink in my closet for decades. Now all these years later, that color is my siren song against all who would keep girls and women “in their place.”  I fear that women are loosing their freedom to speak, express, and have autonomy over their personhood.

This piece was the first in the Pink Freedom to Speak series. It was spawned after seeing the disgraceful applauding acceptance of DJT by the church, the purveyors of morality. What morality? Who owns anyone elses’ morality? Freedom to now punch people down. Anyone was a target to be trashed, bashed, and punched down by the new Bully-in-Chief. The Me Too Movement was a powerful awakening and understanding my indignation that had been tamped down since I was five or six years old.

These shells are so delicate. I honored keeping them captive in the soft pink felt, thread, and gold leaf application. With a pop of bright protest pink as accents they speak our truths. I had kept these in a small candy tin with my memories of that summer of 1977. A beautiful summer of love and beginnings. But also, the summer our family was faced with the beginnings of future sorrow. At one point I thought I’d release these shells back to that place, but I could never bring myself to do that. And now they quietly speak my truth.

Not much more to add to the first in the Pink Freedom to Speak series. Over the next three years, the pieces in this series became more dramatic in color and narrative. More in your face to face the truth.

I enjoyed these shells enjoyed every so often over their captivity in a candy tin for 40 years. 1977 – 2017. Some of the shells are still in that tin.