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.

Two decades ago, I made three paintings that expressed hope. Hope for a rebirth for a city wounded to its core. Because I had been moved beyond description by the tragedy that had struck that city, and because my vision of a bird beacon of souls and sky-clad towers was based on a deep conviction. I did everything I could to ensure that the people of this city would see these paintings, and could 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 the young man I was by then, 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.