Last week, I bought a piece of street art from a recovering alcoholic. Immediately upon meeting me he called me "sista" because he said he "recognized the suffering." His shop is on Bardstown Road, one of the major places of interest in Louisville. His art is simplistic in style - pieces of uneven wood on which he paints then crafts thoughtful and compelling one-liners like "Searching for petals, those childhood dreams" or "I will be good to me, so I can be good for you."
His personal recovery story was also represented. On a piece of wood, painted white, and displayed prominently, were five words: "AND THE BOTTLE STOPPED WORKING."
The one I bought? On a white piece of driftwood, he had painted with the shaky hands of a man who had seen rock bottom, in all lower-case letters, "...so it was me i've been searching for all my life."
Here's to all the "brothas" - the broken, brave souls who turn suffering into hope.
Fo' shame.
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