Less Politics. More Art, Please.

I went to the museum on a cold day in December.

It wasn't my intended destination, but I had arrived in the city ahead of traffic and had an hour of time to spare. The wind was strong and the cold biting. For a minute I contemplated converting to the popular American pastime of 'Starbucks', but since I can't stand coffee, I opted for the museum instead.
It was early on a week day and I counted three other patrons other than myself. I hadn't seen the fourth until I rounded the corner and was struck by a colorful canvas, the expanse of which covered enough of the wall that no other art accompanied the piece.

My response to this artwork was emotional and immediate. As with any art, I find myself equally moved (or unaffected) by both the message/theme/content of the art as well as the skill with which the art has been created. The words of a well-written song will make me cry even if the singer lacks the skill to convey their true depth. Contrary to that, a simple portrait painted masterfully will keep me mesmerized.

And so it is that I was so mesmerized by this piece, I didn't notice the older gentleman until I nearly sat on top of him, my eyes still glued to the fine details of the large canvas. He was hunched over, his hands clasped between his knees. His eyes, hidden by huge glasses, seemed transfixed by the masterpiece before him. He looked surprised by my whispered apology as if he hadn't even noticed my ample bottom sashaying in to obstruct his view.

I side-stepped and sat beside him on the bench. In the brief moment that our eyes met, it was clear that we were both fighting back tears... and as I sat down to contemplate why the piece had touched me the way it had, I heard a half-sigh/half-sob from the stranger next to me.
He broke the silence referring to the historical scene before us by asking if I was an aficionado. "Of neither history nor art," I replied. But we struck up an easy, casual banter about a shared appreciation for both the skill of the artist and both the noble honor and tragedy of war portrayed.
We shed tears together, this stranger and I, before he put his warm, aged hand on mine and wished me a blessed holiday as he got up and slowly left the quiet solace we shared. I wondered to myself at the beauty behind art and its ability to bring two completely different people together in a shared moment of humanity.

The piece had an impact, but I had forgotten about the man shortly after I returned to my busy day of appointments and rehearsals.

Until he went to an event on a cold day in January.

He was one of five people murdered in my home state as a young man opened fire on a state representative, her staff and bystanders. Reports say that he dove onto his wife, who had been shot in the leg several times. He died in her arms after being fatally shot in the head.

The social media erupted immediately with the political spin machines on both side going into overdrive as everyone scrambled for someone to blame.

"Sarah Palin has cross-hairs on her website!"

"The shooter was a left-wing pothead!"

And my heart breaks for the lack of humanity. The lack of understanding. The lack of common sense.

Rather than pointing fingers at political factions or demographics, we need to be doing the opposite. There are zealots and mentally unstable individuals in every race, religion, organization, class and subculture. And we are collectively responsible for creating the exclusive, divisive culture in which tolerance is unacceptable and voter registration cards run thicker than blood.

It is possible to disagree and still love, respect and honor one another.

There were no political lines dividing those two strangers on the bench. There was only a brief connection over a shared moment of humanity explored and beauty appreciated.

My heart breaks for this state. For this nation. For our families and our politicians. We have forgotten so much so quickly.

The tears I shed are for a stranger I didn't know, but who was beautiful in some way... no matter what his politics.