Blog / 2026 / 52 Weeks of Firsts Recap
September 17, 2026
The phone screen glowed brightly in the dimness of the restaurant, precisely the sort of light-in-the-dark that my 45-year-old eyeballs struggle most to adjust for. Once I could make out the photo, I wished I hadn’t. It was a picture of the phone’s owner standing with Donald Trump, and the glee on this guy’s face—both in the image and in real life—could have murdered a whole herd of unicorns.
It was at that point that I got up and walked away.
I was at a party and only marginally involved in the conversation to begin with, since, from two seats over, I could barely hear anything the Trumper was saying to the people he was actually talking with. I doubt my departure made a dent in this guy’s evening, but it was important to me.
Earlier that same day, I’d been celebrating the First Continental Congress in Philadelphia, speaking about the public art I’d made to honor that epic meeting. I’d been reflecting on those representatives of we, the people, who decided to tell a greed-addled tool who styled himself as our leader where to put his outdated concept of himself as a ruler anointed by god. I’d been thinking about how “we, the people” includes a whole lot more of us in 2026 than it did in 1774 and about how today’s predator-in-chief may operate out of DC as opposed to the UK, but how the situation was otherwise pretty similar.
And here I was confronted by a guy who thought it was cool to have his picture taken with a man who sexually assaults people. A man who relishes the harassment and torture of immigrants. A man who’s offered to bribe every adult American citizen with $5000 if only we don’t vote his corrupt party out of office. A man who’s chosen to bomb another country for over six months now, murdering civilians and endangering us all, simply in order to avoid complying with the Epstein Files Transparency Act.
That’s the man that this guy who’d been sitting two seats down from me was proud of.
The whiplash of celebrating the things my country has done well and then meeting a guy like this is just part of living in the United States of America during the Semiquincentennial.
With last Saturday’s event, my active participation in 52 Weeks of Firsts has ended. You can still see my First Continental Congress at Carpenters’ Hall along with my First Steamboat at the end of the Cherry Street Pier and my First Zoo at the zoo through the end of the year. But the Firstivals marking each of these “firsts” have all happened, which leaves me a little sad. Over the last nine months, 52 Weeks of Firsts helped me navigate my complicated feelings about the 250th anniversary by allowing me to focus on the smaller picture and reminding me that, when we work together, we can accomplish beautiful things.
If you’re in need of a pick-me-up along those lines, this is the video of my talk from Saturday.
The Michael that I refer to is of the Norris variety. He’s the executive director of Carpenters’ Hall and a delightful human being. Special thank-you to the Philly Fife and Drum Company!
The footage of my talk and of the musicians is mostly by my sweetie David, except for the part at the end, which is by Rosa Isabella Salvatierra. Check out this video and this one as well if you’re interested in seeing the full making of First Continental Congress.
You can still enjoy all the art from 52 Weeks of Firsts and even attend events every Saturday in 2026. Plan your art-and-history tour of Philadelphia with this interactive map!
First Continental Congress
2025
acrylic on all four sides of a foam sculpture in the shape of a #1
56 x 41 x 38 inches (including base)
(photo credit: Colibri Workhop)
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT
I’m one of the twenty-five-ish artists who created these number one statues that mark each of the 52 Weeks of Firsts. And I painted three. I painted the First Steamboat for Passengers and Freight, which is at the end of the Cherry Street Pier. I also painted the First Zoo, which is at the zoo. But this one is my favorite!
And that preferred status started long before the designs for any of the “ones” were completed. It started with Lindsey Rosenberg, the project manager at [Mural Arts Philadelphia], who was in charge of assigning which of the “firsts” each of the twenty-five-ish artists would be painting, which she did—not an easy task—by getting to know all of our work, obviously, but also by asking us what it was that we wanted to paint. And I said, I like painting people, and I’m pretty good at it. So she made sure that I had a “one”—a “first”—that would include some famous faces.
So from there, I asked Michael [Norris] how he envisioned the First Continental Congress being represented. And I assumed that he would come back with a list of delegates who absolutely had to be represented. But no! His first request was that the hall itself be represented. And at first I was a little bit puzzled. You know, I paint people. That’s what I do! But then I came to learn, which you’ve also all learned today—or relearned—that this hall was massively important to this meeting as this neutral space where the delegates could gather and be on equal footing. So, portrait of the building itself: check!
I then floated the idea of maybe painting—I don’t know—like, a George of the Washington variety. I mean, I do live near Washington’s Crossing, so George looms large for sure. But Michael pushed back gently but firmly and said: “maybe more like a Patrick of the Henry sort or even a John of the Adams flavor.” And I started to get an idea of maybe I should look a little bit further into the history of the First Continental Congress.
And that is how I discovered the Pennsylvania delegate, John Morton. I never learned about him. He is one of only two Founding Fathers who can trace his origins back to somewhere besides the British Isles. He is a Finnish descent—or was a Finnish descent. And it felt important, celebrating the two-fifty, to have a representative of non-Anglo-Americans on this “one.” So that’s John Morton.
And then the final figure is, of course, Charles Thomson, the Secretary of the First Continental Congress. He’s one of the lesser-known of the Founding Fathers, but I think everyone should learn more about him. Fascinating figure. So many reasons why he should be on this design. But the reason, in the end, that he ended up on it was because it was in his hand that the record of this meeting exists. He wrote the Declarations and Resolves. And as someone who makes things all day, every day, with their hands, I needed that connection. I wanted it. It was to the point that when I was actually reproducing his handwriting on this statue, that I cried.
And I get that that’s weird, but it is my wish today that each of you have some weird, maybe tearful moment where you deeply connect with our history. Because it’s in knowing where we’ve come from that we are better able to shape where we are going.
Thank you!
Maybe this post made you think of something you want to tell me? Or perhaps you have a question about my art? I’d love to hear from you!
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