9/11 memorial 300x 200 cm, oil on canvas 2002
I woke up praying on the morning of 9/11, strangely in the middle of a “Hail Mary.” I went down to the local bar in Williamsburg and heard a man on the street screaming about foreigners. In the coffee shop everyone was gathered around a radio. They told me about the planes and said that nobody knew how many more were in the air coming for us. I got my coffee and sat down, trying to keep calm. “PAUL”, the name slammed my brain. My brother called me the night before to tell me he was headed for a meeting at the Twin Towers. I raced down Bedford Avenue like a crazy woman, hands in the air screaming. I called everyone when I got home, my family in Ireland, everyone I could think of. Hours went by. Tortuous. I needed to sink my hands into his body, to grip him. It was a primal feeling. I lifted the phone at one point and his voice was on the other end. “I’m okay, the meeting was cancelled. I’m in Brooklyn.” He came walking up the street shortly after and I grabbed him. The relief was intense. As I held him I thought about all the people who would not have this relief ever in their lives again.
In October 2002 I returned to New York City to work on a 9/11 memorial project at the Irish Arts Center. The image I chose to paint was one of the buildings collapsed. In the rubble you see lines of rescue workers and fireman all connected—overpowered by what surrounds them, but joined together. The painting is in six pieces and is thick with a heavy skin of oil covering it. The exhibition was held at the Irish Arts Center in February 2003, a month before the war in Iraq began.The documentary here"Memorial for 9/11" was made by Jennifer Molina and follows the making of the memorial piece at the IAC.
Remarkable story and a striking work of art--wish I could see it in person some time.
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