Covid-19 Changed Everything
Before the pandemic, I was a completely different person. I had a career that I thought was satisfying. I had a family that was provided for financially. I worked hard, and I thought that I was pursuing my passion and my purpose.
Then the pandemic happened, and everything changed.
In September of 2022, my oldest son died of a fentanyl overdose. In December of 2022, my mom died of vaccine induced turbo cancer.
In January of 2023, in the early stages of my grief and trauma, I was given the opportunity to open an art studio in a local gallery. I was asked to write about my experiences as a professional artist- I had none- until my mom got sick, I was a preschool teacher who liked to make stuff for fun
I had nothing to say about my art experiences, so I wrote the story of what had brought me to that point. I wrote about the ending of my life as an early childhood educator, and the beginning my life as a professional artist.
Today, It seems to me that the story I wrote at the beginning of my art career is a good place to begin my Substack project
Dear Union Street Gallery Artists,
I would like to preface this story by saying that I am not a successful, working artist. As a matter of fact, the upcoming show is the first gallery show I have ever been in, and I have never sold anything that I would consider art. Still- life has somehow brought me to the point where I am writing to you, hoping to rent space at The Union Street Gallery.
I cannot regale you with stories of my successful artistic endeavors or of any showings, awards or accolades. I can, however, tell you my story- the story that got me to this point.
Kristi Yapp
I had a grandmother who built airplanes during World War 2. She was also a poet and an artist. She was ambidextrous and could mirror write with both hands simultaneously. She painted, sculpted, and sewed all of her own clothes. The thing she did that I found most amazing, however, was crochet. I thought is was incredible that she could start with some long string and end up with a blanket. Because I displayed interest- my grandma taught me to crochet. While she sat in her chair, working on a large, ornate blanket- I sat at her feet making bookmarks and Barbie clothes.
My life went on from there- as life tends to do- but throughout the years I have always carried a ball of string and a hook along. Whenever there was any moment to sit still- I had yarn and a hook in my hands. The repetitive hand motions and counting helps to calm me and it helps me to think clearly.
When I was 18 I went to University of Illinois at Chicago as an art major. I dreamed of a life of creativity and success. However- I enjoyed the party at school far more than I enjoyed the classes. My parents said (rightfully) that they would not continue paying for school if I was going to continue down a destructive path.
Teenagers, as we all know, have not yet developed the rational portion of their brain and are therefore unable to make clear and sound decisions- but we tell them they are adults and that they are fully ready to follow the path they lay out for themselves.
I, like most teenagers- was incredibly stupid. When my parents attempted to set me on the right path- I took it as an attack on my independence- and hit back by getting into a relationship with a very bad man whom I knew my parents would hate (and they did).
I dropped out of school, got pregnant, had a baby and got divorced by the time I was 21. Suddenly, I found myself living back at home with my parents along with my beautiful son, Steven- who became the absolute center of my universe. I was in love with my son- and that love set me on the path of a 30 year career in Early Childhood Education in southern Cook County, Illinois.
During those 30 years there were many friendships and relationships, more baby boys, another marriage, a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree, lots of pets, lots of chaos, ups and downs, highs and lows- and me with my ball of yarn.
Working with preschool children is a creative pursuit all by itself. Young children are simply little balls of energy, instinct, creativity and potential. If you let them- they will show you all of the magic that this world has to offer. Their minds are untainted by the the stress and ugliness that can be found in human society (at least, they should be).
Over the years I spent working with young children, I started to recognize a shift in childhood. Children started having shorter and shorter attention span, behavior problems started increasing, and children were becoming more and more aware of the ugliness in this world- children were experiencing and talking about the things from which society had always protected them.
The final fifteen years of my Early Childhood career were spent working for Illinois Action for Children- a huge government funded non-for-profit organization with the goal of improving the quality of education and care for children ages 0-5 in Cook County Illinois. I spend 12 years as a traveling teacher and then moved into administration and spent 3 years as a teacher coach and trainer.
In that position I provided trainings to large groups of early childhood teachers- and I loved it. I felt (and still feel) that we had been doing things wrong. The innocence of childhood is disappearing in modern society- and young people are clearly suffering as a result. There are children willing to shoot each other over a pair of shoes- there is a childhood mental health crisis in The United States of America and that crisis is, I believe, the result of a very broken Early Childhood System- so I tried to use my position and my words to tell teachers how we might be able to start fixing it. I was described as a rising star in the field.
Then Covid happened- and my passion for making Early Childhood better for children started to work against me. The policies surrounding young children and the pandemic were harmful to natural development and, to me, that was very obvious. Keeping children masked and separated simply goes against the nature of a child- and going against the nature of a child has dire consequences.
I was, as usual, outspoken about my concerns- but, as I learned, the funding sources are far more important that the overall health and well being of the most vulnerable children. Statements like that, however, were making me less and less popular amongst my fellow administrators.
It all came to a head, however, during the vaccine mandates. I was working with a group of teachers who had been sent back into their classrooms during the height of the pandemic. The school I was working with had a teacher who died of Covid- so the remaining teachers were scared to be at the school and were angry at being treated as if their lives had been less important than the administrators’ (who were working from home). The teachers, however, were hailed as heroes of the pandemic and were given cupcake parties and taco parties and they put on their big boy pants and got to work.
It wasn’t even a year later that these same heroes were being told they would be fired from their job if they refused to take a brand new, experimental vaccine. Never being one to keep my mouth shut in the face of tyranny- I wrote an email denouncing these unfair policies and shared it publicly. Needless to say- I was fired from that job in January of 2022.
By the way- throughout that thirty years I never stopped making. I have worked in acrylic, oil and clay. I made lovely scrapbooks. I did a lot of garbage picking and upcycling. I learned basket weaving and Native American bead weaving. I spent some time in a fab lab. My main medium, however, has always been fiber, and my main activity crochet. I never, however, felt that anything I created would be considered art. I did some craft fairs in order to support my crafting habit but mostly gave the things that I made away.
After leaving Action for Children, I worked for a short time at a small church daycare near my house as a 2 year old teacher. I was feeling a little traumatized- so, getting back to my teaching roots seemed like a good idea- and it was. I was having fun and I was amazed by the developing minds of these irrational, volatile little beings. I loved my little monsters- and love is the only reward that matters to a preschool teacher.
Then, in June, my very healthy, very active mother became very sick very suddenly. Soon after having several basal cell carcinomas removed, she was diagnosed with both B-cell lymphoma and stage 4 metastatic pancreatic cancer, which had spread throughout her lymphatic system and to her bones.
My mom had very aggressive, fast growing tumors in her spine which were fracturing the bone from the inside. Within weeks of a trip to the emergency room for groin pain- she was completely debilitated and needed 24 hour a day care. With no time to think, and very few viable options, I quit my job and became my mom’s full-time caregiver. It was a sudden flurry of doctors and treatments and prescriptions and wheelchairs and bandages. It is all still a confused jumble in my mind.
Taking care of my mom was both horrible and wonderful. It was incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding. Mostly, I was just acting on instinct and just doing whatever seemed as if it needed to get done- and through it all, I had that yarn and hook in my pocket, so that I could quiet my mind and crochet. Without thinking about it or making any plans- the things I was making started changing and becoming something more than what I had made before.
On September 21 I received a phone call from the San Francisco police department telling me that my 30 year old son, whom I mentioned earlier in this essay, had been found dead in a Whole Foods bathroom. He, after suffering many years of schizophrenia and addiction, had overdosed on fentanyl (currently the number one cause of death for 18-45 year olds in America, by the way). At that point, I had not spent one day away from my mom since she had fallen sick. In her helpless state, she had become like a child who needed help and protection every minute of every day.
She made herself look strong for me, and I took my 20 year old son, Mikey, to San Francisco where we met up with Steven’s childhood best friend, Jonathan. The three of us picked up his ashes and scattered them in the ocean. We then went for a long hike and discovered a memorial rock garden, where I left a handmade sun-catcher that I happened to have in my bag. The next day I flew back and continued caring for my mom.
There was a period during the six months of my mom’s illness where the treatments and medications seemed to be helping, and she was able to walk with a walker and participate in life with friends and family at the house- but that period ended and she started having more pain and less ability to enjoy anything. We continued to try different treatments to address the pain- but they weren’t working. So, the doctors kept increasing the narcotics- which meant that my mom’s mind was starting to slip away from me.
It didn’t seem to matter what the doctors did- my mom’s pain just kept increasing and she was suffering horribly. On December 3 she made the decision to begin hospice care at home. Hospice was able to provide narcotics that finally brought her some peace. One of those narcotics was fentanyl- the same drug that had just killed my son.
On December 13 I was sleeping in the big recliner we had put next to my mom’s hospital bed. At that point, she had a fentanyl patch, as well as liquid dilauded administered to her every 2 hours, around the clock. I had given her her medicine at 12:00 am. At 12:30 I looked at her and she was still breathing. I lay down to sleep- and then sat up again at 12:50. I looked at my mom and she wasn’t breathing anymore. I reached out and felt her warm wrist, but there was no pulse. She was no longer in pain and no longer suffering - she was with my son and with God.
I believe this all would have broken my mind completely if it hadn’t been for crochet- and in the midst of all this tragedy I was suddenly able to make objects that were beyond anything I had ever imagined making before. I was absolutely unable to think- but my hook and my string were making shapes and textures and pictures that I hadn’t known were a possibility. Yarn suddenly became paint and my hook became my brush. I was channeling some untapped potential deep inside of me.
I started taking pictures of my work and sharing them on facebook- and my mom’s friend, Ginny Raftery, started noticing my pictures. At the memorial service for my mom, Ginny started to talk to me about Union Street Gallery and about my art (and I suddenly realized that what I was now channeling and creating was art).
I looked up the Union Street website and signed up for a photography class (with the goal of improving the pictures I take of my art). When I came to the gallery I had an overwhelming sense that this is where I belong.
So- the question is, what can I bring to the gallery?
I pour myself fully into whatever it is I am doing. I am passionate and hardworking. I am also a person who lives a life of gratitude and service.
I will work to improve the gallery in whatever ways I can. I am happy to clean, organize, plan, prepare, discuss, etc.
I also will continue to tap into my soul, and create beautiful things that, I hope, will be profitable to us both.
I am also a trained and experienced teacher of young children and adults- which has potential benefits. I am trained to look at children’s open-ended art as a window into the workings of their brains and as an indicator of their development- but those skills likely apply to looking at the art of humans in all age groups- seeing as human development begins at conception and continues through death.
Additionally,I am still a well liked and respected member of a large group of early childhood teachers in this area of Illinois- which is a connection that could be beneficial to the gallery in some way.
In addition I have three very tall, strong sons who went through the same traumas in 2022 that I went through. I have discovered that the road to healing for young men like mine includes moving heavy objects and helping. They are forever a part of the package that is me- so if anything heavy needs moving I can provide help with that too.
Most likely- being at the gallery will be far more beneficial to me and my family than it will be beneficial to the gallery itself- but, like I said, I am more than willing to put in whatever work needs doing in order to help the community that surrounds me.
I am not working right now- and don’t intent to go back unless it becomes a financial emergency. I currently spend most of my time hiking with my dogs and doing free-form crochet. I probably have too much time on my hands- which could be quite advantageous.
I am in a period in my life where I feel like a child. This is a transformational time- I am 51 years old, the world has changed, the floor has dropped out, everything is chaos- except for my hook and my ball of yarn. I am coming to you with nothing but potential and the desire to learn and grow. I suppose this is an unorthodox route to take towards becoming a studio artist- but here I am.
Oh, WOW. I wish I could give you a huge hug right now. I'm reading from the very beginning and had no idea you lost your son as well 😭 I'm tracking with you as a former public school teacher and fiber arts enthusiast as well. It's ok to feel like a child right now. The last few years has been a lot and that side of us needs some love as well.
I cannot support you with a paid subscription as I am at the end of my savings and very little is coming in now. I'm 74 and no longer the sturdy woman I once was.
Your story moved me as I was also a successful 7th grade teacher who was forced out of my job because of administrators who were incompetent.
I write poetry and some articles here on Substack. Hearing about the anguish you suffered with both your mother and your son broke my heart. My father died of an oxycontin overdose in a nursing home. My younger daughter lost her boyfriend on his 21st birthday. someone gave him the oxy as a gift. My daughter has never been the same.
I can support your efforts as an artist though by reading and sharing. Thank you for writing about this.