the pink house

When my grandmother passed in 2016, I was in charge of going through all of her photographs. Amongst the objects she saved was a letter to her sister Ruth Ann (pictured below). Upon reading this letter, I was immediately flabbergasted by the idea that as a country we would paint the White House pink. The White House will always be white, I thought. The staunch notion shocked me that I was so set in my ways as to the color of a building. Was it nostalgia? a romantic version of a history I’ve always known and therefore should not be changed? Bullshit. Why can’t we paint the White House? Why as Americans are we so adverse to change. The status quo only works for white Americans, and mostly white wealthy men. Where do we start this change. Mine began with painting the White House pink. I was very upset after the last election. Not only did I believe that Clinton was the better candidate, but I was furious at the vilification of her. Why is a woman with a voice who wants power to change our political structure so contemptible to Americans. Why can’t we elect a woman as president? What would that even look like.

I chose to paint portraits of my sister Sarah and great aunt Ruth Ann. Both who exemplify the characteristics of strength and prose.