WTC > paintings

That is the only reality which matters today.

The decisions and resulting behaviours of those who played the role they did in my aborted project are this reality's designers. And to me, these persons are all vanished by now. My memory keeps them only as a part of a dark story that no longer needs any further comments, being in my opinion sufficiently eloquent for what it is, and for what it reveals about human nature.

I once made some paintings about a city wounded in its flesh and bleeding, because I had been moved beyond description by the tragedy that stroke her, and because I had a conviction. I did all what I could for the people of that city to see those paintings, to see and consider what they showed, said and proposed.

But I chose the wrong ambassador.

What is done is done. Nothing can be changed. And there is nothing more to tell.

Except perhaps for the few pieces of music that follow, matching the illusory dream of a man who once saw the world with a child’s enchanted eyes. A vanished world where the Twin Towers of New York were as immortal as the Earth and the Sky.

The child is grown.

The dream is gone.