Why do people create outdoor public memorials?

Artist Noval Noir stood outside in single-digit temperatures at Alex Pretti’s memorial site, painting his portrait. She dabbed pink paint onto her semi-frozen brush. A thin layer of ice formed in her paint water.

Noir is no stranger to painting at memorials. She painted Renee Good’s portrait three weeks ago.

“Art has always been therapy to me, and this is how I’m going to continue to bring this to communities to keep showing light — because we see enough darkness,” Noir said.

As Minnesotans grapple with the fatal shootings of Pretti and Good by federal agents in January, public outdoor memorials at the sites of their killings offer people a chance to honor them. Like George Floyd Square, these urban memorials become part of the landscape and people’s daily lives.

The killings change these urban locations. People gather at the sites day and night.

At Pretti’s memorial site at 26th Street and Nicollet Avenue, people spelled out “Long Live Alex Pretti” with pine cones in the snow. Fragrant incense and candles burned. Some handwritten signs thanked Pretti for his service as a nurse. People have placed mounds of bouquets at the site. Other signs denounced ICE and demanded justice.

The memorial sites and protests are connected, said Candi K. Cann, a Baylor University professor who specializes in death, dying and grief.

Taylor Jones, 41, enjoyed a bowl of warm pozole soup at the Pretti memorial on Jan. 26 while the Brass Solidarity band jammed and chanted.

Being at the site helped Jones process the collective trauma, she said.

“Every single flower that’s laid, every candle that’s lit, there’s someone who’s coming and saying: ‘Our humanity matters. Alex matters,’” said Jones, who moved to Minneapolis from Utah two years ago.

During her first year in town, she went to George Floyd Square a lot.

“I just felt so alone, and it felt like what I wanted church to be when I was younger,” said Jones, who is now an atheist. “Going there, it felt like connecting with humanity.”

“People aren’t just grieving the deaths of these really brave people,” Cann said. “They’re also grieving the loss of safety, of neighborhoods where they could walk without worry.”

On Jan. 27, Saynab Beledi passed out sweet warm crepes rolled in tin foil. As a Somali Muslim person, she said, part of the funeral process is cooking for mourners.

“Everybody has to be responsible,“ said Beledi, 48, who works at Kifway Eats. ”You have to help, you have to cook, you have to take the pain they have.”

Many at the memorial didn’t know Pretti.

“These are very personal losses, but at the same time they have become appropriated as public martyrs,” Cann said.

“The memorial, it’s about recognizing such a huge waste of a beautiful human life,” Johnson said, tears streaming down her face.

The memorial brought beauty out of horror, and it was important to bear witness, she said.

As night fell Jan. 27, married couple Sabrina Taylor and Mo Taylor of St. Louis Park held each other and sobbed at Renee Good’s memorial site at 34th Street and Portland Avenue, less than 2 miles away from Pretti’s.

Portraits of people who’ve lost their lives in encounters with police — George Floyd, Philando Castile, Amir Locke and more — were posted on a nearby fence.

Sabrina Taylor pointed to the killing of Keith Porter, a Black man fatally shot by an off-duty ICE agent in California on New Year’s Eve. She’s sad about the deaths of Good and Pretti, but also sees a contrast in national reaction to the three deaths.

Mo felt sadness, solidarity and pride for south Minneapolis.

“I love how prideful Minnesotans are and that we’re always going to stand 10 toes down for each other,” Mo said.

During a candlelight vigil at Pretti’s memorial on Jan. 28, a nurse placed Noir’s almost-finished portrait at the site.

Noir considered leaving it there overnight but didn’t want it to get defaced or taken. Plus, she needed to paint more flowers. After the vigil, she took the painting home.