Doing laundry in my basement on the morning on September 11, 2001, I was listening to WGN radio as I folded clothes when I heard a report about a plane hitting one of the Twin Towers in New York.  Confused by what I was hearing, I turned on the TV and subsequently watched the events of 9/11 unfold before my eyes on the television, in our basement, in the suburbs of Chicago.  Our college age daughter was working as an intern in a company situated near the Hancock building in Chicago and after arriving at work, she was sent immediately back home to her apartment; her coworkers knew of affiliates working for their same company in Manhattan. Not knowing what the scope of what we now knew were attacks, and not knowing if anything in Chicago might be a target, she and her roommates headed out of the city by commuter train, and arrived in the suburbs to watch TV with me as the hours unfolded.   It was a horrific day.  

The next day, on September 12, with three unexpected guests in the house, staying for an unknown, unforeseeable future, I took a walk to clear my thoughts.  It struck me when I turned a corner - the sky over our suburb, usually thriving with activity from O’Hare airport, and an occasional random weather ‘copter’ or small plane from the county airport, that sky was now empty and quiet.  I walked down a main street in our subdivision near a park with a pond and when I looked up into an endless, cloudless blue sky, the only observable objects were both the sun and moon singularly sharing that great expanse together, alone.   

I was so impacted by that moment of calm and quiet, I wanted to capture it in a painting to remind myself of what that empty sky spoke to me.  With a sky void of all human efforts to conquer and use it, the only thing remaining was the assurance that every day the sun will come up to give us another day and another chance to start again.  The moon was still present with the sun that morning and after witnessing the events of the day before I was reminded that God was faithful in bringing another day regardless of what we do to each other. He grants some of us another day.  And it was also a sober reminder that some of us did not get another day, and that that gift of another opportunity to live and love another day was a gift to be cherished and embraced because no one gets to choose when it is their last.  

I went home and determined to paint that scene. Most often I paint from some kind of source material- a photograph or a sketch I have done. In this case I just started painting from memory and wanted to capture the feeling of the moment and not necessarily the complete realism of the scene.  You can see in the foreground of the painting some local high school students in a playing field and an American flag on the bleachers of the football field.  It was my commentary that this horrific event did not stop us from living, we were resilient and life continued despite the loss of so, so many. The painting titled ‘Empty Skies over Knolls Park’ was finished in a day or two... not a typical time frame for me.

In the weeks and months that followed, I saw many sobering, sad, horrific, compelling, hopeful, patriotic, uplifting images in newspapers and magazines and on TV.  To remind those born before this event, there was not an internet tornado of images and information like you would experience today. In my own way I wanted to memorialize those events using images that had really touched me and helped me remember the story of that day. Overlaying and composing specific images that resonated with me,  I painted my piece entitled ‘9/11 Remembered’. 

Both pieces were included in my first solo art exhibit in 2002.  Every year I would look at them on the anniversary of that fateful day to remind myself of what happened and how we as a nation united together and moved forward in determination and hope.   On the 10th anniversary of 9/11, the paintings were donated to our local firehouse, the firehouse that sits on the very street in the painting.  On the 20th anniversary, this year, I watched the documentaries and perused the internet stories and celebrations to remind myself of what really did happen and it was sweet to remember how we as a country were united and stood together against those evil acts in the days that followed, and in turn, feeling sad about today’s divisiveness. I went back to that firehouse to inquire if they still had the paintings; unfortunately, no one could find them.  I was disappointed, but then, where were they?  I got an email from the new fire chief, just promoted to that position a month ago.  Good news: he informed me that the recently retired fire chief had gone to New York himself and had donated those paintings to families that had experienced the loss of someone in their lives on that awful day.  That was full circle for me, somewhere, someone in New York city has those paintings, someone who experienced devastating loss that day, and hopefully those folks are reminded that another American far from their hometown, stands by them, mourning and celebrating everything that happened that day.