Every once in a while, if we’re incredibly lucky, someone comes into our lives and turns everything we thought we knew on its head. If we’re even luckier, we recognize this person as the treasure they are and we let ourselves learn from them. Monica Hand was such a person, and in mourning for her I mourn for the people who weren’t lucky enough to know or learn from her.
Being around Monica was the closest you can get to sitting in the path of a rainbow; warm sunshine, saturated colors, and the sense of awe that tingles at the tips of your ears. It was impossible to keep from learning in her presence, as her calm manner and deep love of the world around her called even the least familiar with social and political issues to action.
To be in one of Monica’s classes was to be challenged, to be immersed in art, to fall back in love with the world around you for all its flaws and then to find the ways to make it better. Monica believed deeply in the power of art to heal, and the power of imagination to change the world. She wove race throughout her teachings, reminding us all of the importance of visibility and Black Imagination as a force for all things good and the validity that comes in letting pain be felt. She taught her students to dream ways to work through the trouble but also how to escape into art as a form of self-care before going back into the fight reinvigorated.
Monica had poetry in her veins, flowing like sap in a grandmother tree she spoke worlds into existence with a voice that felt like coming home.
With the poetry came fire.
The fire of righteous fury, the fire of unwavering belief in those she loved and mentored, the fire of a woman who has seen Hell and come out the other side with so much wisdom the trip was more than worth it.
As I have tried to process her death, I’ve realized how big a presence she was beyond what I knew. Monica was involved in everything, giving her experience and voice to everything and everyone lucky enough to be deemed worthy in her eyes. To be deemed worthy in Monica’s eyes was the highest honor a cause or soul could achieve.
The outpouring of love and pain from the community and souls who feel her loss is incredible, and only reinforces the magnitude of her influence. No words I have will be adequate to encompass all she was or all she meant to all who were lucky enough to know her. But, Monica always told me not to give up just because I thought I couldn’t do it so I’m giving it my best shot.
Monica, you were the most incredible person I’ve ever had the privilege to learn from. You brought out the best in your students both in and out of the classroom with your mentorship. I will strive for the rest of my life to be the kind of teacher, artist, activist, friend, and person you were. Thank you for the laughs and for the tears, I learned so much from both.
Fly high, Rest In Power, and I can’t wait to see you on the other side.
