Artists Registry

Robert Peckar

“Aftermath”

Oil on Shaped Multi-layer Canvas

My daughter was married a the Regent Wall Street on Sunday, September 9, 2001, just blocks from the World Trade Center. On Monday, September 10, our family traveled to Israel to celebrate the marriage with her husband’s Israeli family. We arrived in our hotel in Tel Aviv on the afternoon of 9-11 (early morning in New York). While we were unpacking, my mother-in-law came to our room and told us to turn on CNN—“a plane hit the World Trade Center.”  Assuming it was a small plane, like most other people, I still was curious so I turned on CNN and, of course, was shocked at what I saw. Our family gathered and we sat at the edge of the bed and watched, and watched, as the horrible events of the day unfolded, finally coming to the horrifying moment as the towers collapsed. And then, of course, the totality of what had happened that day started to settle in.

It is difficult to describe all the emotions, fears, concerns and mourning we felt as we were thousands of miles away transfixed by the images on the TV. But for me, this was personal. In addition to the shock of our country and city being under attack and the obvious horrific loss of life that would result, I had a connection with the Towers and seeing them collapse was overwhelming.

I was raised in the construction industry and became a construction attorney. I knew the WTC intimately. One of my clients did all the stone work for the plazas and installed the intricate tile work for the iconic Windows on the World restaurant. I still have one of the gold tiles that were used on the columns in the restaurant. Ray Monti, the Chief Engineer for the Port Authority, who was in charge of the construction of the entire project, was a close personal friend of my father and someone I spent considerable time with. Ray shared stories about the challenges building the project and I felt connected to the buildings. Thus, to watch images of the towers under attack and then collapsing on themselves to oblivion was similar to watching a friend get shot and die in front of my eyes.

A week later, after the prohibition against flights was lifted by the government, we were finally able to return home. Our United Flight touched down at 4:30 AM in Newark and as the plane made its final approach to land to the South, we passed the eerie spectacle of Ground Zero. I was seated next to the window and took in the spectacle of the brightly lit space that had been the home of the two massive towers. Light smoke was wafting into the sky. I knew then I had to get to the site, Ground Zero. My interest was not ghoulish nor was it voyeurism. For me, it was akin to a visit to connect to the scene of a tragedy involving a close friend.

The four contractors who were engaged to conduct the work at Ground Zero for the Search and Rescue Operation (soon after to be converted to a recovery operation) were clients of my law firm with whom I had close relationships. I contacted one of the executives at Turner Construction Company who arranged for me to come to Ground Zero the next day. I had no idea what to expect to see or feel, but certainly I was not prepared for what I did see or how I would deal emotionally with the experience.

When I arrived at the place where my “guide” would meet me, I was immediately struck by two aspects of Ground Zero. The first was the emptiness of the place where two huge towers, filled with thousands of people going about their work, their meals, their shopping  and their travel, no longer existed. Accompanying that void was the almost quiet sense of tragic loss of life despite the loud sounds of the massive equipment moving debris to facilitate the search. The air had a haze of smoke that drifted to the sky. First responders and workers were everywhere. As we approached the entry point to the site, soldiers wearing masks to filter the smoke, stopped us to check our credentials, bringing home the reality that we were at the scene of an attack, not just a tragic accident.

Once in the site, I was led across the planked walkways that had been constructed above the field of debris. We walked very slowly due to a combination of the time it took trying to find something recognizable in the huge area of debris (which was difficult to do). I recall how struck I was by the reality that two huge towers full of furniture, bookcases, doors and other objects were nothing but a pile of unidentifiable pieces and dust. We also walked slowly out of a sense of reverence for thousands of victims whose ashes were somewhere in that field. As I took in the scene I also recall my eyes being drawn to an American flag placed by the workers, proudly flapping in the breeze and the shocking sight of a piece of the façade that had pierced the American Express Building across the West Side Highway.

I do not recall how long we walked those planks, but I do recall that every second of that walk I found myself pulled emotionally to the verge of tears of mourning and to an angry determination that our country had to bring justice to those responsible for this horror.

As I sat in the back of the car that returned me to my office from Ground Zero, my mind tried to make sense of the kaleidoscopic memory of so many images. I took out a piece of paper and started to sketch my impressions. In the geometric style of my art, the concept of a painting started to come together. By the next day, I was in my studio building the frames for the canvas. Several days later when the canvas was ready for me to paint, I literally attacked the canvas with a passion and purpose that I had only found in a few other paintings I made. When the painting was complete, I titled it “9-11- Aftermath”.  The scenes depicted in this painting speak for themselves, hopefully with reverence and respect.