911 The Names Union Square

fading with every day, yet the memory stays just as strong.  

In Union Square in the underground corridor above N/R line on the west wall, are all the names of those who perished. Label stickers that John Lin (I only discovered the artist by posting this clip) put up onto the subway tile, some names are fading. You could miss it if you're not paying attention. In this clip I took my niece Sara to walk the corridor. She was 9 at the time of the tragedy living in NJ and like us all, forever changed by the event. Every time I perform in Union Square, I point out to people as they rush on by, this moving simple tribute. A quiet reflection of the gravity and loss, slowly fading from the finger tips that brush over the names.

It's still there. You should check it out.
Thanks to Melea Seward for informing me that the wall sticker installation was created by John Lin. 

She writes: My friend John Lin did this. He measured the space, mapped the white subway tiles, printed all the names of those that died on 9/11, and enlisted a bunch of us to help him make this wall. It was the weekend after September 11 -- maybe 20 people or so -- unpeeled Avery labels and affixed them in alphabetical order -- to the wall. I had just moved to New York a few months before. I have recently left NYC -- was there a few weeks ago and ran into this wall, noticed the peeling stickers. And had a moment. I was writing about it and wondered if anyone else had noticed it.

I'm pleased to see that you made this video. And accompanied the long walk down that hallway with your song.

Thank you.

music performed and written by Cathy Grier

Past 911 blog posts:

2012 after Hurricane Sandy Stirred Not Shaken

2011 September 11

2010 Where Are We Now

2009 Remembrance

 

September 11, Eleven years

Anniversary's of this kind are tricky, on the one hand we must reach into our collective and personal grief to remember the tragedy, the loss, the deep shattering and on the other hand, how to balance the knowledge of our resiliency and not eclipse the memory?

As I walked through the streets of my home, my city, for the days months and years after 9/11, I saw what was obviously physically missing, those towers that always pointed me "downtown" and then when was it that I stopped looking for the reference and couldn't remember exactly where they stood in the skyline? Singing in the subway was where I could sense what was missing within each of us. When was it that I could feel by watching commuters body language and my own, that we were over the shock, the loss, the intense sense of horror? I can't remember, it just slowly evolved into a new being. 

Now I look to the sky and watch floor upon floor growing up from the scared land, what was left of the World Trade Towers. Honestly it's strange to see the buildings stretching now taller than the Empire State building. Ground Zero. Ground Rebirth. I can never forget those days after 9/11, how our world changed.

As I do every year I remember and I weep.  

Today I remember for the families who lost lost loved ones, for the firefighters, police and emergency workers who lost their lives. To those who volunteered to help rescue and recover. For the workers who spent months carting away the debris at risk to their own health and who may have also lost their lives, or be forever disabled. To the health care workers who under such duress worked endlessly and who continue to help and heal to this day. To our soldiers and National Guard who have fought two wars directly related to the event of September 11, 2001, including the countless innocent lives lost overseas as a result of those wars. 

Today I remember we can rebuild, we can love and sing again. I only began singing in the NYC Subway system in 1999, I know that the events of September 11, 2001 is reason enough why I continue to do so to this day. I have hope for our future where we encourage education for all people, re-imagine our financial systems, work tirelessly towards a more energy efficient and socially conscious society. I dream this new century moves more towards a place of collective peace and love. I came into this world a dreamer and I continue to dream that dreams do become reality.

I remember.

some of my previous years postings:

In Union Square in the underground corridor above N/R line on the west wall, are all the names of those who perished. Label stickers, a memorial art installation by John Lin, stuck onto the subway tile, some names are fading. You could miss it if you're not paying attention. In this clip I took my niece Sara to walk the corridor.  She was 9 at the time of the tragedy living in NJ and like us all, forever changed by the event. Every time I perform in Union Square, I point out to people as they rush on by, this moving simple tribute. A quiet reflection of the gravity and loss, slowly fading from the finger tips that brush over the names.

 

music performed and written by Cathy Grier

Quiet reflection NYC wound

Been in quiet reflection, and stillness over the news since Sunday night of the killing of Osama Bin Laden.  Sympathy for the families of those who died on September 11.  It's their moment for now. Feeling uncomfortable though, watching people, gloat, mob like hysteria as if his death, a murder of a murderer would be the end of the story.  Paraphrasing Martin Luther King Jr. "The ultimate weakness of violence is that it's a descending spiral, with violence you can murder the hater but you do not murder hate, you just increase hate...darkness can not drive out darkness, only light can do that."

I have to turn off the media or take it in small doses, maybe a radio program so I don't have to see, or a printed article to allow the words to seep in about "the operation."  No matter what, I still get confused, have too many questions. All that is swirling is hard to digest.  We went to war, wars over this man and his ideologies, but we don't know the exact cost of lives lost or as our military calls it, collateral damage.  I am uneasy to say the least.  And we're still at war.  How can you wage a war on terror?

My thoughts in reflection: 

Waking up September 11, 2001 in my apartment in Washington Heights to a city forever changed. 

Walking past flyers and posters plastered throughout the city announcing the missing.  

Returning to perform in the subway as soon as I could to be a "canary in coal mine," of sorts.  

Singing to grieve. 

Singing to let people know we're still alive and breathing and capable of getting through the tragedy. 

Singing even during all the Anthrax scares, and family concern that maybe I should "wait before returning to subway gigs."  

Singing at St. Paul's Chapel the epicenter for exhausted recovery workers. 

Singing at a funeral for fallen fireman Sergio Villanueva, from ladder 132 engine 4

Heartbreaking weeks and months of the loss, sadness, death, and ever burning smell.  

A torn apart and grieving city.  

Joining in voice with others fearing America would be changed in very negative ways-like with the fast tracked Patriot Act; the horrible side of humanity with backlash of anyone Muslim; racial profiling at it's most reviling. President Bush racing to war.  

A media frenzied.  

Putting a hand written peace symbol on my subway banner and getting very mixed reactions to it. 

A small and growing group called "New Yorkers Say No To War" meetings with anti-violence guest speakers, trying to understand the new world we were being delivered into.  

We found our own solace in attempting to be educated and proactive not reactive.  

All this only months after September 11.  

In Union Square in the underground corridor above N/R line on the west wall are all the names of those who perished. It's just label stickers someone put up onto the subway tile, some names are fading. You could miss it if you're not paying attention. I look at it every time I perform there and point it out to people as they rush on by. A quiet reflection of the gravity and loss, slowly fading from the finger tips that brush over the names.

Update

on 2013-02-06 16:18 by NYC Subway Girl

thanks to Melea Seward for informing me that the wall sticker installation was created by John Lin. 

She writes:

My friend John Lin did this. He measured the space, mapped the white subway tiles, printed all the names of those that died on 9/11, and enlisted a bunch of us to help him make this wall. It was the weekend after September 11 -- maybe 20 people or so -- unpeeled Avery labels and affixed them in alphabetical order -- to the wall. I had just moved to New York a few months before. I have recently left NYC -- was there a few weeks ago and ran into this wall, noticed the peeling stickers. And had a moment. I was writing about it and wondered if anyone else had noticed it.

I'm pleased to see that you made this video. And accompanied the long walk down that hallway with your song.

Thank you.

Remembrance

I'm reflecting on the events of this day 8 years ago. Loss and tragedy have a way of etching into our fiber personally and collectively.  Like a cross section of an oak, we can see what years brought amazing growth and which ones presented intense hardship.  The ring that describes September 11th in my soul is clear in it's grief and amazement that such an event could happen, right here, in our city, in our country. Yet new rings encircle it now, each with their own reaction to the preceding years.

Today I remember Sergio Villanueva fireman from ladder 132 engine 4 and cousin of a friend of mine.  Singing at his memorial gave me the opportunity to express my incomprehensible fear and grief over the events of September 11.  I will forever be humbled by being allowed to be a part of his family for such an intimate sharing of their tragedy.  

My nephew Alex was only 10 at the time, today he is a recent member of the Coast Guard after serving as a firefighter in his hometown in NJ.  It's that pure and simple, the events of September 11th and of the heroism of people like Sergio inspired Alex to want to make a difference saving peoples lives.  

Today I am remembering.

History has a way of smoothing over jagged edges. We may not necessarily be healed, but the tragedy absorbs into life into something completely new.

May we never forget.