My grandmother, mother and aunts recited daily rosaries into their 80’s and 90’s. Their hands worked a well-worn path from the crucifix to the first few beads, around the loop and back. They prayed, paced and rocked. They prayed while vacuuming, making sauce, changing diapers. Prayers, were in their DNA.
I started tearing arrows from old paintings and to-do lists during the 2015 uprisings in Baltimore following the death of Freddie Gray while in police custody. In heartbreak, I was reminded of the women with their rosaries and my own childhood laps around the beads. For me, tearing arrows has become a form of prayer. I continue to make them. There will always be people and places needing love.
My grandmother's sauce pot, paint, ink, graphite, colored pencil, marker, paper
