The Hollywood Transit Center tribute mural
Mar. 6th, 2025 03:13 pmIn response to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asakiyume's post about finding a creepy site in the woods, I said:
I believe you about the site you found. The day after the knifings at the Hollywood MAX station in Portland, OR in 2017, I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market, and felt an unfamiliar silent ringing of tension in the air. Then I remembered what had happened just a block away. I wonder if you found the young man's camp, but he died elsewhere?
You're right, odd that no one has cleaned that up. If it felt right, you could choose to do that... At the Hollywood Transit Center, Sarah Farahat (the sister of a friend) painted a beautiful tribute on the stairs and ramp to get to the station.
And then, in response to comments:
Watching the video about the creation of the mural now made me cry, too.
The mural is a powerful piece of art for sure. Not just a commemoration - it keeps the sense of sacred space that was created with the spontaneous altar of offerings from the community in the days after the attack. Here's a photo of part of it via Wikipedia, but it stretched for half a block.
Sadly, in looking for photos of the original memorial, I found an article that sounds like they destroyed the mural, suddenly dubbed "temporary," a year ago. Augh.
------
I've been thinking about my word of the year, Love. It's such a huge, complex, amorphous topic. I'm struggling to carve out smaller things I can post that don't feel painfully cliched or too vulnerable or both at once.
But I can say, I love that mural. It was a 15 minute bike ride away from where I lived, not my closest MAX station, but always a pleasure to go up that gloriously painted ramp with my bike when I did go through there.
It felt like sacred space, like a communal affirmation of love, joy, inclusion, all the things we need for healing and creating a better world. I was sad to leave it behind when I left Portland, and I'm bereft to hear it has been destroyed. Love and grief are so intertwined.
ETA: I thought about it more and changed devastated to bereft. They both feel like intense words to apply to a mural in a city I don't live in anymore, but it's also entwined with everything else that's going on politically, socially, environmentally, and both words definitely apply to all that.
asakiyume's post about finding a creepy site in the woods, I said:I believe you about the site you found. The day after the knifings at the Hollywood MAX station in Portland, OR in 2017, I went to the Hollywood Farmers' Market, and felt an unfamiliar silent ringing of tension in the air. Then I remembered what had happened just a block away. I wonder if you found the young man's camp, but he died elsewhere?
You're right, odd that no one has cleaned that up. If it felt right, you could choose to do that... At the Hollywood Transit Center, Sarah Farahat (the sister of a friend) painted a beautiful tribute on the stairs and ramp to get to the station.
And then, in response to comments:
Watching the video about the creation of the mural now made me cry, too.
The mural is a powerful piece of art for sure. Not just a commemoration - it keeps the sense of sacred space that was created with the spontaneous altar of offerings from the community in the days after the attack. Here's a photo of part of it via Wikipedia, but it stretched for half a block.
Sadly, in looking for photos of the original memorial, I found an article that sounds like they destroyed the mural, suddenly dubbed "temporary," a year ago. Augh.
------
I've been thinking about my word of the year, Love. It's such a huge, complex, amorphous topic. I'm struggling to carve out smaller things I can post that don't feel painfully cliched or too vulnerable or both at once.
But I can say, I love that mural. It was a 15 minute bike ride away from where I lived, not my closest MAX station, but always a pleasure to go up that gloriously painted ramp with my bike when I did go through there.
It felt like sacred space, like a communal affirmation of love, joy, inclusion, all the things we need for healing and creating a better world. I was sad to leave it behind when I left Portland, and I'm bereft to hear it has been destroyed. Love and grief are so intertwined.
ETA: I thought about it more and changed devastated to bereft. They both feel like intense words to apply to a mural in a city I don't live in anymore, but it's also entwined with everything else that's going on politically, socially, environmentally, and both words definitely apply to all that.
