After my difficult time trying to find a place to paint that did not require trespassing on prison property (see Delaware River No. 3), I had found the municipal landing that was crowded with people enjoying the out of doors – but it I was a bit unsettled by one group congregated at one end of the landing parking lot who were celebrating Mother’s Day with a lot of stars-and-bars Confederate flags, and yelling unfriendly aggressive racist rhetoric. I suppose white supremacist mothers would be proud, but I deliberated whether I should stay and paint among such troglodytes. But after having driven around so long and wanting to paint so badly I decided to risk it. I set up my painting stuff at the farthest point from the rally with the wind blowing their angry words the other way.

While I was painting a group of people on motorcycles pulled into the parking lot and parked their bikes all around me. They peppered me with questions – wanted to know why I was there, if I was an art student, etc. Some were incredulous as to why anyone would go to art school or pursue painting at all. But they agreed that the painting I was doing was a good representation of the river and gave me their blessing.

After about two hours of painting and fielding questions from big burly bandana-and-leather clad motorcycle aficionados, I packed up and went home exhausted. As I drove past the giant prison complex again I thanked my lucky stars that I had had the opportunity to go to college and had not wound up inside those walls. And when I got home I threw out that useless map from the Fairmount Park Association.