Nora Johnson
Soul-Searching Art
yi youthimpact
WRITING SERIES
About the Author & Artist
Nora Johnson is a member of
Hutchisons Class of 2016. A
talented artist with a passion
and love for her hometown of
Memphis, she has led efforts
to educate Hutchison girls
about Memphis issues, history,
and culture and stimulated a
culture of civic engagement
among the upper school as
president of Hutchisons
Rogers Scholars organization.
To inspire Hutchison girls
like Nora to use their talents
to serve the Mid-South
community, Kirby Dobbs
and Glenn Floyd recently
endowed the Hutchison Serves
program that spans from early
childhood to the upper school.
26 / 4Memphis
By Nora Johnson
W
ere all people, right? All equally
deserving of respect and
opportunity? Some in Memphis
seem to disagree.
Memphis is a racially-divided
and economically-stratified city known to the outside
world as home to Elvis Presleys Graceland and killer
barbeque. Yet Memphis is a cauldron of heat and
soul food and musicand extreme poverty. We live
in a nation of equal rights, but unequal opportunity
this is especially true in our community. Thirty five
percent of our population goes hungry every day, our
murder and rape statistics are some of the highest
in the country, and our racial and economic divides
appear intractable. Memphis needs our help.
Last year I met someone who claims to be Elviss
high school classmate. He was sitting at the corner of
Sam Cooper Boulevard and Broad Avenue, the center
of Binghampton, one exceedingly hot August day.
He was an older man sitting casually on the side of
the road wearing a threadbare sweater and beat-up
baseball cap. He seemed friendly, yet slightly lost.
What is your name?
Wesley, he mumbled, struggling to stand.
introduced myself and asked if I could take his picture
for my art project. He hesitantly agreed. I pulled out
my camera and captured his image. Could I have
some money? he whispered, and I gave him what I
had.
He sat back down to his life, I drove away to mine.
I took AP Drawing my junior year and chose to draw
Wesley and twelve other vulnerable people to raise
awareness in my community that these people exist,
have names and families, hopes and dreams. Too
often we alienate people who seem different. We
categorize and weigh people on such relative scales
as race, ethnicity, religion, and socioeconomic status.
I wanted to remind all of us through my artwork that
everyone has a face, a voice, an identity.
Some months later, I drove down Broad looking for
him and ended up approaching a man who looked
dirty and dilapidated. The artist in me noticed the
deep wrinkles on his face and how they resembled
the deep folds in his disheveled cargo pants. His
unwashed hair and street-weary face unnerved me.
I was verklempt.
The man was Wesley. I didnt even recognize him; his
physical and mental health had declined tremendously
in just six months. He had been hit by a city bus since
the last time I spoke with him. He leaned heavily on a
cane and looked like he had aged ten years. Again, I
was verklempt.
The only way to start helping the disenfranchised is
by feeling their pain, listening to their aspirations, and
accepting them as people. Wesley is so much more
than his home at the street corner of Sam Cooper
and Broad and the fact that he went to high school
with Elvis. Everyone has a story to tell. But when
your opportunity, voice, and even identity is stripped
from your lifeits hard for you to communicate
with outsiders what youre enduring on a daily basis.
I Wesleys story is similar to Gales, Pats, Bills, Nubs,
Dianes, Kates, Damians, and Marcuss. All people
that I drew. All people without homes. All citizens of
Memphis. All individuals who need help.
After the AP Art Show, I sold a few drawings from
my portfolio and used the money to buy tents,
backpacks, toiletries and dog supplies for the people
in my drawings. Unfortunately, Wesley is still out
there.
Down on Beale one night I bought a classic Memphis
bumper sticker: No black. No white. Just the Blues.
I wish it were that simple.