Sunday, September 11, 2011


Ten years ago, I was living in Woodside, Queens, waiting for my wife to make it home from downtown Manhattan.  When she finally caught a train and arrived back in our neighborhood, I ran out to meet her.  The relief I felt was indescribable, but unfortunately was not something universally experienced.

Several months later, the Society of Illustrators commemorated the events of that day with a show that I helped hang upon its walls.  Asked if I had anything to contribute, I sheepishly said that I'd started a piece but admitted that it wasn't finished.  I was encouraged to finish it and add it to the show.  This was that piece.

It's not brilliant — in fact, I wouldn't say it's particularly good...but, it's all I was capable of at the time.


I think the piece is 16"x20", oil on canvas board, and I wish it was a more fitting tribute to what this day represents to so many.

1 comment:

  1. It's sad how much death, manipulation and lies were created with this event.

    The saddest is that most people believe it.


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