Friday,
January 11, 2008
from
my journal, 1-10-08
The two young men walked into the gallery for the first time about two years ago. As I do with all visitors I welcomed them to Gallery 5, introduced myself, and learned that they were members of the 101st Airborne stationed in nearby Fort Campbell. They were interested in art and were visiting the Lowertown galleries for the first time. They were quiet, but not shy, and spent a great deal of time looking at all the art and seemed to enjoy just being in the gallery and studio. Yes, they had served in Iraq and were glad to be back home. I remember being impressed at how nonplussed they were about that, as if it was all very routine. I also remember the uncertainty I felt trying to understand what appeared to be a contradiction, these tow young, very professional soldiers so interested in art.
I told them I would take 50% off the price of anything they wanted, and Richard bought a small clay mono type. David told me how his father, an artist for the major studios in Hollywood, would enjoy seeing my work.
Over the next 12-18 months they returned 3 or 4 times, each time spending no less than 30-45 minutes looking at the art and talking about how they enjoyed the opportunity to do so. David spoke frequently and fondly about his father who obviously instilled in his son the appreciation of art. They were both anticipating returning to Iraq in the fall of 2007 with their now familiar casualness. David’s wife accompanied them on these visits, and on their last visit his dad was with them. He seemed to enjoy the art just as his son said he would and that visit lasted well over and hour. When they left my last words to them were, “take care of yourselves and come back to see me”. I admired them for their uncomplaining commitment to their tasks as soldiers, simply doing what was expected of them.
This morning the studio phone rang and the caller ID listed an out of town number I did not recognize. As soon as David’s dad identified himself, his voice flat and halting, I knew, and the tears began as he told me that “David fell”: he was killed by a sniper’s bullet while on patrol 2 days ago. The pain and grief in his voice was palpable. My own grief was immediate and uncontrollable, made worse when he told me how much David enjoyed his visits to my gallery and would I please send a copy of my book to David’s wife, and one to him. It seems such a small thing to do for such a great sacrifice.
That was early this morning. Now my sadness is accompanied by anger. I am angry that we are told we are at war, and yet nothing is asked of us. Our military is at war, the thousands of young men and women who are in Iraq, and those that have been there are at war. Their families, parents, spouses, children, and other loved ones are at war. Richard is at war and David was at war. David’s death has made the war personal for me.
An “I support our troops” bumper sticker doesn’t do it. All Americans should be sharing the sacrifices that these young men and women and their families are bearing. It is the responsibility of our leaders to show us how. Instead we are not allowed to see and feel the tragedies of war; it is hidden from us, presented only in a sanitized form. And that is a disservice to David, his family and his comrades. My anger is not about whether or not this is a justifiable war, it is about the way in which it is not allowed to truly enter into our collective consciousness. It is about the leaders who are afraid to ask the country to make any real sacrifices because we have this wonderful all volunteer military, and they can bear the pain and the grief for all of us.
The two young men walked into the gallery for the first time about two years ago. As I do with all visitors I welcomed them to Gallery 5, introduced myself, and learned that they were members of the 101st Airborne stationed in nearby Fort Campbell. They were interested in art and were visiting the Lowertown galleries for the first time. They were quiet, but not shy, and spent a great deal of time looking at all the art and seemed to enjoy just being in the gallery and studio. Yes, they had served in Iraq and were glad to be back home. I remember being impressed at how nonplussed they were about that, as if it was all very routine. I also remember the uncertainty I felt trying to understand what appeared to be a contradiction, these tow young, very professional soldiers so interested in art.
I told them I would take 50% off the price of anything they wanted, and Richard bought a small clay mono type. David told me how his father, an artist for the major studios in Hollywood, would enjoy seeing my work.
Over the next 12-18 months they returned 3 or 4 times, each time spending no less than 30-45 minutes looking at the art and talking about how they enjoyed the opportunity to do so. David spoke frequently and fondly about his father who obviously instilled in his son the appreciation of art. They were both anticipating returning to Iraq in the fall of 2007 with their now familiar casualness. David’s wife accompanied them on these visits, and on their last visit his dad was with them. He seemed to enjoy the art just as his son said he would and that visit lasted well over and hour. When they left my last words to them were, “take care of yourselves and come back to see me”. I admired them for their uncomplaining commitment to their tasks as soldiers, simply doing what was expected of them.
This morning the studio phone rang and the caller ID listed an out of town number I did not recognize. As soon as David’s dad identified himself, his voice flat and halting, I knew, and the tears began as he told me that “David fell”: he was killed by a sniper’s bullet while on patrol 2 days ago. The pain and grief in his voice was palpable. My own grief was immediate and uncontrollable, made worse when he told me how much David enjoyed his visits to my gallery and would I please send a copy of my book to David’s wife, and one to him. It seems such a small thing to do for such a great sacrifice.
That was early this morning. Now my sadness is accompanied by anger. I am angry that we are told we are at war, and yet nothing is asked of us. Our military is at war, the thousands of young men and women who are in Iraq, and those that have been there are at war. Their families, parents, spouses, children, and other loved ones are at war. Richard is at war and David was at war. David’s death has made the war personal for me.
An “I support our troops” bumper sticker doesn’t do it. All Americans should be sharing the sacrifices that these young men and women and their families are bearing. It is the responsibility of our leaders to show us how. Instead we are not allowed to see and feel the tragedies of war; it is hidden from us, presented only in a sanitized form. And that is a disservice to David, his family and his comrades. My anger is not about whether or not this is a justifiable war, it is about the way in which it is not allowed to truly enter into our collective consciousness. It is about the leaders who are afraid to ask the country to make any real sacrifices because we have this wonderful all volunteer military, and they can bear the pain and the grief for all of us.
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