In a New York Minute

This week has been a long unwanted continuation of summer’s many sleepless nights.
I like to get up early. It allows me time to start the day at my own pace. In the apartment I live in with my husband, John, we wake up when the sun hits the water of the Hudson River, bouncing glistening light into the room. We don’t have any curtains or shades to block the light or the world outside — why would we? With a “million dollar” view that stretches from the graceful Verazano Bridge reaching for lower Manhattan up to the Empire State Building, why would we ever want not to see the view? Today I feel differently.
We’ve lived here for one-and-a-half years and have never tired of the view or taken it for granted. Every morning when we woke up the very first glance was out the window to see the city, the light, and the river. When I took a break from work I would go to the window to see the city, the light, the river. Even on those days when I didn’t take the ferry into Manhattan I felt connected to the city by the view. Every single night before going to sleep I gazed out the window and silently said goodnight to the twin towers of the World Trade Center as they watched over lower Manhattan. The view changed John and me: For the first time in both of our adult lives, we liked coming home — to the view of the city, the light, the river.
In a New York minute everything changed. On Tuesday, September 11, 2001, John and I were having breakfast, watching the news and getting ready to go into the city together on the 10 a.m. ferry. I heard a huge noise, thinking it was from a nearby railway construction site, and didn’t bother looking up. John said, “Look what a beautiful cloud — Oh my god…” I looked up and saw the northern tower of the World Trade Center billowing smoke. We both jumped up, ran out to the balcony, and gasped that there must have been a terrible accident. We ran for the camera equipment: Not knowing what to do or how to cope we busied ourselves with the nervous energy of taking pictures. I hated myself for seeing beauty in the smoke tendrils that filled the sky.
As soon as we saw the second explosion we knew this was no accident. We turned up the television and watched as the world we knew so well disintegrated before our eyes. I certainly don’t mean the view, but the idea that living in New York City’s shadow protected us from random terrorism and war. As I watched the magnificent towers implode — first one and then the second — I felt that everything that was yesterday was trivial, meaningless, and empty. I tasted hatred in my soul that I despise and fear to this very moment.
For the next 48 hours I restlessly padded a tight circle around our small apartment. Starting in the living room with the repeated videos of planes slamming into the towers, into my office to listen to NPR, back to the window, retreat to read the online NY Times, then numbly back to the balcony, completing the circle. I took hundreds of pictures — from the red-drenched sunsets caused by the clouds of dust through the darkest sleepless nights until the earliest morning light that never brought a reprieve. This week there was no looking away from the city, the light, the river. Only now the city was shrouded with a long cloud of dust that waved slowly up from where the World Trade Center had stood.
Now five days after the attack I am not drawn to the window any longer. I do not sit on the balcony in the afternoon sun. I do not look out towards Manhattan, although the smoke has lessened. The repeated images in my mind will never dim. I can’t enjoy the view of the city, the light, the river — just as the five thousand people lost in the rubble of the World Trade Center cannot. Those whose grave I can see and smell smolders in the distance, contrasting the city, the light, and the river of my dimming memories of the days before Tuesday, September 11, 2001.


Images Copyright 2001 Katrin Eismann

Katrin Eismann is an artist, author, and educator who has been working with digital imaging tools since 1989.
 

  • anonymous says:

    The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on.
    All of thy piety nor thy wit can lure it back to cancel half a line,nor all of thy tears wash out a word of it!(Fitzgreald)

  • anonymous says:

    Thank you for sharing your thoughts, emotions and images of last Tuesday’s unspeakable nightmare. Just as it is good to express your feelings through your art, it is good for us to read your words and view your photographs.

    It is all a part of the healing.

    May God bless and keep you.

  • anonymous says:

    Stunning, stunning, stunning. thanks for the momories

  • anonymous says:

    I found both the article and the photo series to be a very sensitive and moving personal account of the devastating event.

  • anonymous says:

    surreal

  • anonymous says:

    Your poignant words and thoughts tell us more than any of the TV footage we see on CNN. Many of us in NZ owe so much to the US for our careers, inspiration and livelihoods that, although it’s comfortable physically to be remote from the tragedy, we somehow wish we were closer to share your grief. God Bless You Both.

  • anonymous says:

    Powerful images capturing the whole City of New York as it changed forever.
    Thanks to your imaging skills the whole world can see the tragic event from your personal point of view, beautiful and horrific as it was.

  • anonymous says:

    thanks for publishing these photos

  • anonymous says:

    Appreciate the sharing of the unique perspective of these two artists.

  • anonymous says:

    The fore-shortened time line is like spending the whole day all over again.

  • SandeeCohen says:

    I live in New York City, just a mile and a hlaf from the site of the WTC.

    Each morning I would look to my left to see the WTC. Then to my right to the Empire State Building.

    It was a way to check the weather and air quality.

    Like Katrin and John there were mornings that the WTC was obscured by clouds and fog or just dimmed by smog and haze.

    Now, no matter what the weather, I can no longer see the WTC.

    To me it is as if a perpetual cloud covers part of my life.

  • anonymous says:

    “In A New York Minute”? How catchy. How disgusting. Does either of these articles shed new light on the events? No, not really.

    Publishing these articles is just another example of designers being self-congratulatory drama queens.

    Authors: Do you even realize how in poor taste it is to “copyright” the images of the destroyed towers? Are you protecting your right to make money from those images? Disgusting.

    Creativepro: Why didn’t you choose to report on the columns of light memorial, or the proposed new WTC architecture? Now that would be DESIGN news related to what has happened.

  • anonymous says:

    Incredible that there can be beauty in such trajedy…

  • Anonymous says:

    Katrin appreciate so your bearing your heart and emotions from the events of the day. as photographers we capture moments, many that will never come again. I pray we never have to see such a site in our land ever. You reacted, responded in the way your heart would have you to as one who takes life in and documents it. I noticed in the second photo you managed to catch the 3rd plane as it is winging off to the right. I pray that someday you will be able to find solace and peace in your view and balcony. Thank you again.

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