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Two years ago on September 11, I was working as an agent at a commercial talent agency. I got up that morning at my usual hour and took the dog for a walk. When I returned, I flipped on the TV and there it was. I'm not even sure now whether I saw the second plane live or if Katy Couric was relaying the repeats. I don't have to tell you how it felt watching this. I don't have to tell you how it felt getting ready for work. Driving to work. Los Angeles had already quieted down enormously. Studios and theme parks were shutting down, not to mention stores and banks and LAX.
When I got to work, the first person I saw was my fellow agent and friend Barbara, who, coincidentally was now NOT celebrating her birthday. We kept the TV on all morning while the agency owner tried to decide whether or not to close up shop. There was nothing going on in the entertainment world that day as far as wheeling and dealing goes, and certainly no casting. We spent the morning calling actors and turning them back from scheduled auditions. Most everything was postponed. And, in fact, it slowed everything for months thereafter and they made less commercials and there were less auditions and less money moving and less to do. Within two months I was laid off and within four months Barbara was laid off.
Anyway, the boss did decide to let people go home around noon but before we did, we went next door to THE STEAK JOYNT. As par, the only places doing business in times of depression and disaster are BARS. We watched the TV together and hoisted a couple strong ones to the folks in New York and to our friend Barbara who knew too well that this day would forever mark her birthday as the worst day in the nation's recent history.
When I got home, I picked up my digital camera and pointed it at the television. Through the following weeks of tears, I clicked away at everything that I saw presented to us through the televised media. For months therafter, I continued clicking whenever there was a benefit concert or news conferances or presidential speech, the World Series or the return of football. I had over a thousand photos depicting various stages of the Twin Towers collapse and the people and nation in reaction. I edited them, sized them, printed them and then created several pieces of artwork using hundreds of collected bottle caps as frames for these pictures and applied them to painted canvases and 2 by 4's and whatever else. More than anything, I guess it was a good therapy for me. I'm not sure Barbara, with everything else she has to deal with in her adult life, can even look at these now very familiar images. (I get many different reactions to the artwork - some have immediately teared, some look away, and some delve in and look at every single little image.)
I called Barbara last week to find out what she might be doing for her birthday this year. She was not even happy to think about it let alone discuss it. She said, "It's already started. I don't want my birthday." She meant that the coverage had begun. The media, the hype, the reminders. Maybe she would feel wrong to celebrate, maybe she feels gypped. Maybe its one more thing she doesn't need to remind her of what she thinks is her continuous lack of luck. Contrary to those reactions, Barbara is one of the strongest and wackiest women I know. Though I share with you my 9/11 artwork in memory of the infamous day and our losses, I hope you will join me in wishing my friend a great and happy birthday.
Posted by nora murphy at September 9, 2003 10:30 AM | TrackBack