Break for Hope
Lisa Draper
Mixed media assemblage and performance Photography by Kelsey Atherton
Essays by Draper here
Made possible by a grant from the Center for Latter-day Saint Arts as part of the Art for Uncertain Times project.
I believe that the more interpretations a work is open to, the more powerful it can be—xiao lu
To create change within ourselves, within our families, within our racial/class/gender/religious/political structures and stereotypes, and ultimately within society, we must first break the old to make space for the new.
How terrifying this process is—teetering on the sharp edge of the unknown. How rewarding and necessary; how worth the discovery!
March 8, 2020, I flew home from attending Armory Week in Manhattan. Though a few experiences had been strange, it was largely business as usual. Four days later, I felt like my whole world was shattered. Schools, churches, festivals, sales events, etc. were shut down and social distancing implemented.
Reports of widespread disease and death came right alongside catastrophic unemployment rates and a skyrocketing mental health crisis.
My grandfather died Easter morning without a single family member permitted by his side. Half of my siblings lost their jobs. All 3 businesses owned by myself, my father, and my husband ground to a halt, and cars for sale lined the street, right in front of hundreds of shops with large signs that read “closed.”
For the rest of the month I had a repeated vision of shattering glass. Every time I closed my eyes I saw shards flying—the sound repeated in my mind so often I checked for broken glass while doing my dishes multiple times. The pattern of my life—something I knew and loved—was destroyed, and at the same time, allowed passage to a sharp but beautiful beyond I couldn’t touch or fathom before.
As time went on, the unrest continued with violence triggering civil rights protests, calls for police and justice reform, and a plea to improve in how we see our spiritual brothers and sisters. I could see and feel shifts and changes in myself and others as we stopped to listen and understand the words “fragility” and “fatigue,” choosing to allow our own invisible barriers to fracture and let in light we didn’t know existed before.
The duality of feelings filling the world at this time of both rest and emergency is palpable. A feeling of being at once trapped and freed; of being both healed and destroyed as the world draws inward. The sharpness of change, and new discovery of beauty, humanity, and love in the midst of pain pulls us along an incredible edge over the terror of death and the unknown.
In creating this piece I wanted to communicate this feeling of being at once trapped and freed by time, space, our minds, our bodies, our homes, and our society as it stands. I chose to take objects that are ordinary, and implemented destruction to create something unusual. Not only are a bedroom window and classic alarm clock familiar and safe, but the ones I used are old—traditional. Much like the life I led prior to March 2020.
A century-old, wood-framed window is the most meaningful object in this assemblage. Selecting this window took multiple tries. I have included the powerful account of its inclusion below— it is definitely worth reading.
The alarm clock is unbranded—it was shipped from Europe where it began serving in the 1960s, at a time when its owner undoubtedly had painful memories of World War II. It has seen pain and hope and renewal many times over.
It no longer runs, and stopped shortly before 3 o’clock.
3 am is when I generally wake when disturbed by a bad dream or pain. 3 pm is when I become sluggish and complacent— tired and ineffective when I still have so much to do. The clock is poised a moment before change, for good and for bad. Ringing in the potential for relief and destruction in one.
Its presence is also powerful, as I have felt trapped by my inability to predict the future. Uncertain of when (or even if) things will return to my precious “normal.” I had a large shift in my view of time and eternity after I experienced a pause in time the third week of March. That experience is also shared below, and begs many questions, including: “what is a world without deadlines?” and “what is the meaning of progress?”
The bat I used for the performance was specifically made for me. Never a baseball player, I researched what length should be used for my height, and custom ordered it. I wanted it to be an extension of me and my experiences. I also felt it was important that it be clean and new—only bearing the scars of my piece. After my performance, it was scuffed and held bits of glass. It seems sad to have created so much destruction. It was hoping to be an object of sport— of joy. It doesn’t yet understand that it DID bring joy. Joy of understanding and communication. Joy in a rebirth that can come only after death.
In the days following my performance, entering my studio has been a holy experience. The window, for the time being, still hangs on its black wall— tipped and shattered and illuminated. A reminder that there is brightness; there is joy and growth and healing and hope not only through the darkness and sharpness and death—but because of it. —Lisa Draper, 2020.
Find Draper’s essays about Break for Hope here.
Lisa Draper
is the oldest granddaughter of professional artist Carol Gerlach, and so she began painting in her grandmother’s studio at the age of 2.
The artist was born in the green city of Belleview, Washington. She spent the most memorable years of her childhood there, and loved the feeling that the Earth was alive.
After a degree in psychology, experience as a parent and foster parent, working in a mental hospital and juvenile detention center, and much more, Draper believes all people are built by both beautiful and painful life experiences that can be crafted to serve, or to destroy. Interactions in life that persuade powerful change are where she finds her greatest artistic inspiration.
Draper serves on the board of two nonprofits. She loves airplane take off, clear streams, cheesecake, afternoon naps, NYC street music, and chatting with just about anyone. Find her at draperfineart.com or @draperfineart.