Sarah Yuster
In 1985, as a young artist in my twenties, I painted the vista from Staten Island's hilly North Shore overlooking New York Harbor towards Manhattan. It sold steadily in reproduction for years, even more so after the attacks on 9/11.
Alternately constrained and rent by grief, disbelief, fear, rage and soaring empathy for the victims and their loved ones, none of us knew where to go. One tangible location for many was that spot on Victory Boulevard with its’ unique view of the skyline. People gathered there for days to look, understand, and verify.
"Twenty-Nine Years" is acknowledgment of our communal trauma, its aftermath and collective long view.
The Firefighter
Oil on canvas, 2002, 36” x 72”
“September 11th was quixotically fortunate for me. My brother survived the strike on the WTC. I watched the towers burn and collapse over and over on the television news that morning. I could barely breathe, cry, or dare to hope as we envisioned Jared’s last moments, anonymously repeated in slow motion for all to see. Relief and gratitude upon finally hearing from him was subdued by the surrounding anguish. Jared’s reportage of the defining minutes of evacuation and rescue provided an overwhelming image that would endure.
“Jared said ‘As we made our way down the smoke-filled stairwells, I could smell burning jet fuel. The firefighters kept everyone calm, guiding and assuring us we would be fine. I tried to remember the face of each one as he passed us going up; they had to know they might never come down, even if you couldn’t see it in their eyes—I felt that someone should look at their faces because it might be the last time anyone did.’
“NYFD Battalion Chief Ed Ellison posed wearing a black helmet instead of his rank’s white one in honor of all his fellow firefighters.”
—Sarah Yuster