Art Is… by Bev Jackson Cotter

If only I had my sketch pad.

From across the room, I had an unusual perspective of the election process. The pictures in my mind are unforgettable.

As a ballot counter judge, my job was to stand near the machine. after it had whisked in and counted the ballot, I handed out an “I voted” sticker to the adults and to smiling — and sometimes shy — children. Because I was near the exit door and the individual’s portion of the election was over, voters often breathed a sigh of relief, then smiled and visited a bit.

Every election judge takes an oath before the polls open to perform their duties in a fair and impartial manner, to not discuss parties or issues or candidates with anyone in the polling site, and to uphold the law to the best of his or her ability. Consequently, my conversations with the voters were about the unusually warm weather, or voter turnout numbers or reminiscing.

“Hi, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.” Then later, “Darn, I cannot remember that person’s name.”

Across the gym, along the furthest wall, stood nine voting booths and a table with four sections. The booths stood straight and tall, with dividers separating each desk top from the others. Some stood a little crooked with legs that tended to slide and sometimes tilt the booth. It was a little disconcerting for the voter when he or she could sense the impending buckling when the booth support system started to give way.

When I mentioned my sketch pad, in my mind I was picturing a drawing of the various poses as the people stood in their cubicles, the personalities, clothing styles, body shapes and concentration habits that were so different in each person.

There was an older gentleman in baggy clothing with bent shoulders and graying hair focusing so hard on the ballot selections; a tall, slim young woman in tights and those new style shoes with straps around her ankles who was in a hurry to get back to work; a mother whose small child was tugging at her mom’s jacket and trying to peak up over the desk top; the braggadocio man whose mannerisms let me know that he was angry and strongly intent on making his vote count; the sweet little lady with the walker, determined to stand upright in her booth and mark those ovals; and the new immigrant who studied that ballot like his future depended on every mark he made, and … and … and.

I couldn’t see faces, but the body language said so much about who these people were and how much the voting process meant to them — more than a thousand voters, more than a thousand different images.

If I’d had my sketch pad, I would have drawn America. America as we want it to be, with everyone voting with their heart, believing in our right to live in a world where democracy and human decency are our guiding principles, and where everyone — young and old, crisp or wrinkled, brilliant or average, rich or poor, red and yellow, black and white — can stand in a private space and vote the way his or her heart instructs.

If I’d had my sketch pad, I would have drawn America as our forefathers dreamed, and as we sincerely need it to be.

Bev Jackson Cotter is a member of the Albert Lea Art Center, 226 W. Clark St. in Albert Lea.