So 25 years later, the scars of 9/11 are still raw for so many people not just in the USA but the world as well. The perpetrators of terror seem to be a revolving door of different actors but the victims are always the same innocent bystanders. This weekend like others around the world no doubt, I've naturally been watching lots of different shows about 9/11. But because our world goes on, there are also many new stories of the same kind of terror along with the same kind of innocent victims. Seeing photos and videos of the rubble of downtown New York in the aftermath of the Al Qaeda attacks next to videos and photos of Tyre, in South Lebanon, and Gaza, I'm reminded that the terrorists may have different motives but the innocent victims are always the same.
(This was first posted 9/11 2011 when I was living in France.)
Exactly ten years ago I was living here at the Belvedere with my friend Lydia who is also a painter, and we spent that day trying to take care of a lamb whose leg was broken. At this time there was a shepherd named Roger from Catalonia, who walked his dog and troop of sheep four times a day, up and down the small road which is below the house. Early each morning, the sound of tinkling bells and his bellowing voice awakened us.
Up to a large field about a half kilometre off the road each morning he went with his sheep, then back for lunch, and back up again, then back home late afternoon was his daily routine. For us it was a wonderful way to mark each day of our life here in the Drôme. Roger was friendly and always shouted 'Salut' when he saw me coming out onto the terrace to wave to him. Once in a while a lamb with a broken paw would straggle behind crying pitifully which was painful to watch four times a day. That week it was too much for our city sensibilities so we asked him if we could take care of the latest invalid. Thinking we were a bit crazy, but being affable about the whole thing, he gave it to us much to our surprise.
So on the morning of September 11th we took it to the Vet's in La Begude who probably also thought we were being a little 'dramatic', and he advised us that it had a broken leg and should be someone's dinner quite soon. We brought it back to Roger who promised he would put it in a small field next to his house. After lunch we each went into our retrospective studios and painted for the afternoon. Lydia painted a portrait of two large dying sunflower plants (see top photo) They were slumped over and hanging to one side. I worked on a few things but couldn't concentrate so at one point I threw two red vertical lines onto a small canvas hoping to throw me into some movement. I suddenly found it to be a compelling image. I don't know why but I stopped and left it in that state, hoping I guess, to pick it up later and to make something from it.
We did not have a television in those days, and at that time, retrieving emails was a dial-up affair, so we were living a somewhat remote local life.
In truth, being so close to the end of our relationship, we didn't have much to say to each other, so I imagine that we ate dinner outside and later eventually made our to bed. I do remember the telephone ringing once or twice during the night but it was downstairs so I didn't think about getting it.
Needless to say we didn't find out about what had happened in New York until the next morning. Not knowing what had happened, I came upon condolences from several French friends which I found perplexing and an hysterical message from my sister in the States. I went online to see what the fuss was all about.
What really surprised us both were the two images which had come up for us both completely independent of one another. Being six hours ahead of New York, there was something quite eery about these images being painted at just about the same time as the towers were falling in the early morning there.
Generally, I'm not a superstitious fellow but I do find these two images painted simultaneously in different rooms by us, quite remarkable.
(An update to this story: Lydia wrote to remind me (which I had forgotten) that the small lamb which she had healed with argile had somehow lived and walked after a week)
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