Right now, art feels like a life raft. Little pieces of light, incredible work, keep coming to the surface. It’s my hope all of this incites the artists to work so feverishly our fingers go numb, and our words run dry, and our voices are forever imprinted into the soil. Most days I sense it, that rumbling, and on the best of them I see it. It’s images like this: the rosy cheeked marchers, their swift and poignant signs, a certain unmistakable look in the eye, and I’m reminded it’s true.
New York photographer, Anne Hollowday, sent us these images from the march in New York. She captured the march in such a way that you can feel yourself physically aware this particular moment will never happen again. Perhaps, it is the fact they are on film, black and white, or the stoicism of the buildings, or the commonalities of those who have marched before. Such weighted moments forever stilled, photography in it’s highest order.
This moment took place in such a symbiotic way across the country, around the world, and blended everything and everyone into a voice so loud it sliced through the terrible and the terrifying. Little shards of light that make darkness impossible. And it is images exactly like these, which we will show our daughters, when we recall just how much beauty began to blossom within all of the madness, that is right now.