Women Who March

Born in Washington, D.C., I’ve lived in the Maryland suburbs most of my life. In the 1970s, I demonstrated for the Equal Rights Amendment and handed out “ERA Yes” buttons to Republican women attending Ronald Reagan’s first inauguration. My son and I joined thousands on the grounds of the Lincoln Memorial at the pre-inauguration concert when Barack Obama began his presidency in 2008. Eight years later, I thought we were on the verge of electing our first woman president. Disturbing revelations about Donald Trump’s treatment of women brought memories of sexual assault from my teens and twenties front and center. As the shock of Trump’s election sunk in, I talked quietly with other women and learned about Pantsuit Nation on Facebook. That site led me to the Facebook page for the Women’s March of Washington. Feeling fortunate to live near the nexus of political energy that is DC,  I started publicizing the march.

January 20,2017, Inauguration Day

A day of disappointment and resolve. I picked up a piece I started a year ago featuring a female servant with long white hair against a backdrop of mountains and sky. I covered her blue dress with raging red and added wondrous flames around her head. She was standing in fire and she became fire. An honest expression of the dismay of the day.

 

Raging Woman - Inauguration Day 2017

“Raging Woman – Inauguration Day 2017” by Marie Temple

Paper, fibers, ModPoge on wood

January 21, 2017: Women’s March on Washington

Mobility challenges prevented me from marching, so I watched the speeches and the swelling crowds on TV. I reveled in the song “Tiny Hands,” returned to my studio, and asked this raging woman on fire what she had to say. I was filled with gratitude for all who were demonstrating that day, for the pink pussy hats and signs that they made, for people streaming into the streets all over the world to say that this Trump does not represent us all. I added more red and was drawn to bronze paint, which I gently skimmed over the red dress and flames with an almost dry brush. My raging woman began to glow. The light is so bright because it stands against the darkness. My spirit always remembers this, even if my heart temporarily forgets.

 

“Tribute to Women Who March” by Marie Temple

Paper, fibers, ModPoge on wood

 

 

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