NEW YORK 2000 - Nine-eleven 2001

It was October 2000 and I was on a week long, whirlwind business trip to New York and Miami before my premiere 2 month sojourn at the Cite Internationale des Arts in Paris (November & December 2000)

The plan was, to go up the Empire State building in the morning and then, ‘do’ the Twin Towers in the evening.

Encapsulated in an authentic Art Deco elevator and rapidly ascending several levels at a gasp, I was swooning in a time-warp, imagining myself cossetted in the stilettos, furs and sequined satin numbers of several 1920’s movie sirens: Mary Pickford, Lillian Gish, Greta Garbo, Theda Bara…… one for each of the 86 floors, as the numbers lit up on the polished brass of the elevator wall…..

 

GRETA GARBO

However, on exiting at the observatory platform, the sharp air stung my skin and my attention was riveted on 3 things that had changed since my maiden visit 24 years ago.

1) Protective fencing had been erected on top of the concrete parapet.
2) I was staring at a mini-Trafalgar Square! Doves were flying and sitting wherever they could and it fascinated me that they were completely comfortable at such high altitudes. Did they ever descend? Get their claws on the ground? Indeed, was there any necessity? I joked that in New York even the doves were ‘high flyers’!
3) It was my first glimpse of the Twin Towers on the horizon…

The view was breathtaking, whilst lovely ‘Casper the Friendly Ghost’- clouds, were waving at their reflections in the Hudson River below…..

My business associate and I took turns photographing each other and I was first. Then, as I held the camera in my hands, I realized it was a hopeless case! No matter which direction I pointed my camera, metal bars and birds were obstructing my view…

Then, pushing the lens past the metal bars, I decided to focus on the Twin Towers. Etched on the horizon against the dazzling, dappled river, they became the center of my composition.

I am intuitively attracted to paradox and the organic and moving shapes of clouds and the river snaking along the curved outline of the land, beautifully contrasted with the harsh and geometric shapes of the huddled and rigid skyscrapers.

I remarked to my associate that what I was looking at, in effect resembled a ‘giant cemetery’…

The silvery, circular outline of a cloud that tried to imitate a saint’s halo, or a wreath, silently drifted in the pale blue sky……..

Satisfied at last with the angle and image I had in my viewfinder, I was about to press the release button, when my view was blurred! In shock, I jerked my head backwards and a few centimeters from my hand, casually perched on the parapet, was a majestic dove……serenely ruffling and vibrating it’s feathers, with no intention of taking flight……

Now that I had found my perfect angle, powerful gusts of wind were tugging at the hem of my skirt and sweeping strands of hair across my face. The solitary cloud was now moving in an animated way and I was anxious to get a move on too…….

In a situation such as this, where rapid decisions have to be made, there is an unexpected 3^rd force that forces you to compensate.

There and then, I made a decision to ‘make peace’ with the dove and incorporate its blurry image into my shot.

As my finger tentatively and hardly audible, pushed down on the trigger, the dove moved ever so slightly and I gently re-positioned myself, trying not to startle it, or lose the perfection of my angle. Just then, the dove’s head slid underneath the Twin Towers and accepted it as its crown! My immediate reaction and the noisy mechanical action, sent a stream of dove perfume up my nostrils, as it spread its wings and noisily flapped towards the ground!  

 The afternoon was spent lazing away in a Gelateria in Brooklyn.  Egalitarian parents were gallantly pushing padded strollers, their squealing, chubby, fashionably dressed babies, licking their dripping over-sized ice creams, which were precariously balanced on a cone. I was sinking into a slow-motion ‘My Fair Lady’ fantasy…….

Abruptly my senses revived and trained as a typically alert South African female, my intuition warned me that this was simply too good to be true! It was with concern that I remarked: ‘These Americans are in a dream world, so confident and so relaxed, they would be completely oblivious, even if a plane passed overhead at this very moment and dropped its deadly cargo…..’

As planned, we reserved the evening for our visit to the Twin Towers, steeling ourselves against the currents of icy winds, in the desolate banking district.

Two vivid images are ingrained in my memory:

1) The overwhelming size of the ground floor entrance, which was vast enough to accommodate a small plane in flight.
2) The complete lack of perception of distance and reality that I experienced as I stood, (at the cafeteria situated at the top), my nose disbelievingly pressed against a sheet of thick glass. I had the sensation of flying and floating, whilst observing pinpricks of light, as Pandora’s Box overflowed and spilled a river of ruby and diamond necklaces, which were silently flowing towards some distant destination….   

The photographs which documented my USA and NY experience, were only developed on my return from Paris, January 2001.

As I shuffled through the few thousand unconnected images documenting several weeks in America and Paris, I had the added realization that also I, had eventually returned home after what seemed like light years of fantastic journeys. 
It was then that my eye fell on an unusual photograph which instantly jolted my memory! On closer inspection, I was flooded with the emotions of that day on top of the Empire State Building and I had an instant title for the photograph:’WHAT GOES UP, MUST COME DOWN.....CROWNING CAPITALISM.'

You can imagine the shivers running up and down my spine on the 11 September 2001, as I stared in disbelief at the developing drama on our television screen…..
As I post this today, I am yet again reminded of all the moments of wonder that have dotted my life. I adore Poppies and they are currently in full bloom in our garden.
Lo and behold, today, as we commemorate the destruction of the Twin Towers in NY on 11 September 2001, I discover a rare twin-headed Poppy.

 

                                   

However soon after having done so, shivers run up and down my spine, when I realized with what ease I have picked it from the flower bed.....

 

© Copyright reserved Aleta Michaletos 2016 (images and text)
www.aletamichaletos.com

SAINT TERESA 4 September 2016

Pope Francis will declare Blessed Teresa of Kolkata 
a saint at the Vatican Sept. 4, 2016

                                                               MOTHER TERESA 

 Miraculous Events and Treasured Mementos

In 1970, after completing my high school education, I enrolled as a student in the Department of Architecture, at the University of Pretoria. Although I was a dedicated student, I decided to switch courses and after an additional 4 years of study, eventually received my degree in Fine Arts.

As an enthusiastic little child-artist, I would carefully dip my old fashioned nib-pen into the glass bottle, filled with India ink and proceed with my first messy attempts at rendering pen drawings of flowers or figures. However, my childhood interest in this graphic medium was immediately rekindled when, as an eager student of architecture, I became acquainted with and mesmerized by the range of possibilities of the professional Rotring pens, capable of producing drawings that boasted delicate and ghost-like lines, resulting from the emanations of a 0.1 pen point!

Although these lines were spider web-like and ultra-delicate, the contrast of the black ink on the white paper was immediate and harsh and thus perfectly suited for architectural and character studies.

For several years I had been aware of and increasingly inspired by, the selfless dedication of Mother Teresa. Whenever photographs of her appeared in newspapers or magazines, they would invariably illicit an immediate and powerful, emotional response in me. Therefore, it was inevitable that an image of her, protectively holding and pressing an emaciated child against her own fragile little body, would act as inspiration and catalyst, for me to lovingly and laboriously, eventually put pen to paper, in 1972.

 Photographer:Lisa Hnatowitz

I’ve long ago come to terms with the fact that I could be labelled a Paradox Junkie. The flowing, white robes swaddling Mother Teresa, beautifully contrasts with the leathery, black skin of the half-clothed child she is holding in her arms. From her cave-like, imploring eyes, the hypnotic expression hovers between that of accusation and that of begging and reflects the harsh reality of our fragile humanity. Life and death continue to remain unlikely neighbors as her parted lips silently utter and express the whispers, cries and vulnerability of the suffering soul, that heroically and defiantly shines through the dying child’s as well as her, eyes.

 Photographer:Aleta Michaletos

There are lengthy periods of careful consideration whilst using this medium to construct one’s subject matter. First of all, there is the tentative outline which is then followed by the meticulous and time consuming build-up of countless layers of rapid crosshatching. This technique acts as metaphor for the development and process of one’s life. Mistakes cannot be corrected and it is only by repeating several layers of seemingly insignificant effort, that a powerful and visible end result is achieved.

Since the earliest times, it has been rumored that artists capture a portion of the essence of their subject when copying their likeness.  Could this possibly account for the fact that I am so deeply contented to my subject once I’ve completed a work of art?

 Photographer:Aleta Michaletos

In 1985 I set about organizing a group exhibition in my gallery with the following theme: ‘A World Beyond our Vision’. The well-known and beloved South African Reverend, Johann Symington, was the opening speaker, whilst my image of Mother Teresa, adorned the invitations. I requested the printer to increase the run but to omit the text so that I would have a stockpile of blank cards with only her image on the cover.

Then, after more than 2 decades, Mother Teresa visited South Africa.

My husband, who is a medical doctor, regularly assisted with operations at the Little Company of Mary Hospital situated in Groenkloof, Pretoria. Trying but failing to suppress her excitement, Sister Mary informed him that Mother Teresa would shortly be visiting the hospital and that they were busily preparing for her imminent arrival.

I was exhilarated on hearing the news and the prospect of a personal meeting with my ‘inspiration’.

However, due to unforeseen circumstances and to my utter dismay, I was unable to attend the function in honor of Mother Teresa.

I simply had to find some small way in which I could still feel connected to the momentous event and so out of desperation, on the morning of her visit, I begged my husband to pass by the hospital and ask Sister Mary to hand out the cards I had hastily given him, as a memento of the day, to the fortunate guests attending..

We were well acquainted with the Administrator of Transvaal, Danie Hough and his wife Mignon. A few days later, I once again, through circumstances beyond my control, missed the second opportunity to meet Mother Teresa when the couple officially escorted her on the last leg of her visit to South Africa and spent some time talking to her in the VIP lounge of Jan Smuts Airport, shortly before her departure.

However, several days passed and I was still mourning the disappointment of both ‘non’-events when my husband had to visit the hospital again and he was approached by Sister Mary. She said: ‘Doctor, I have something for your wife’, and handed him an envelope containing one of my cards. She explained: ‘When Mother Teresa saw the cards at the gathering, she inquired as to whom the artist was that had drawn her portrait. I informed her that it was one of the doctor’s wives but that she was distressed at being unable to attend.

On hearing this she asked for a pen and one of the cards and wrote down the following message on the inside:                                       

 GOD BLESS YOU

                                                        Mother Teresa

‘Please give this to her’.

Only a few days after this turn in events, Danie Hough also paid us a visit and said that ‘he had something for me….’ whereby he handed me an envelope containing a photograph. This photograph depicted an image of Mother Teresa, himself and Mignon, seated in the VIP lounge and in deep discussion.

On the photograph Danie Hough had written the following: ‘Aleta, dit sou ‘n wonderlike ervaring gewees het om jou ook daar te kon gehad het. Danie.’ (Aleta, it would have been a wonderful experience, if you had also been present with us. Danie)

Although it was not meant for me to be physically present at both these rare opportunities that were seemingly within my reach, I have been given priceless mementos which I lovingly treasure.

10 years ago, the deaths of Diana and Mother Teresa within a week of each other, came as a paradoxical double shock to the world. I signed both books of remembrance although of course, when filing along the impossible queues and security measures, to sign one of several books at the British High Commission in Hill Street, Pretoria and smelling the pungent aroma of thousands of decaying bouquets stacked against the security fences, I was not aware of the fact that as soon as the following week, I would be signing another significant book of remembrance, just around the corner, at the Indian High Commission.

In death, Diana was remembered as glamorously and publicly, as she had been portrayed in life.

Sharply contrasting with my experience the week before, I was able to park my car in front of the open Art Nouveau garden gate which welcomed me to walk down the cement garden path and climb the 2 steps onto the airy veranda which completely surrounded the double story home. The heavy wooden front door, flanked by stained glass windows, was ajar, and without hesitation I stepped into the familiar entrance hall of the old Victorian home. Previously this had been the home of Dr.Colyn van Bergen where, in childhood, I had been a guest on numerous occasions to play with my school friend, his daughter, Carin.

I was completely alone and as my eyes became accustomed to the dimly lit interior, I was struck by the serenity, simplicity and authenticity of the ‘display’. The glowing Rosewood panels on the walls reflected the flickering flame of a single candle burning on a ledge and placed next to the open book of remembrance. 2 or 3 small glass vases were filled with blooms picked from the old rosebushes in the garden outside and were already dropping petals onto the crocheted doilies, on which the vases were placed.

Unhurriedly and privately I was able to express and compose my grief on paper.  As in life…. so in death…..

(Written: 2^nd September 2007)

 

Dear Aleta,

What a marvellous piece of work – your prose is as good as your paintings.

When is your debut novel coming out?

All the best

Vikas
 

Vikas Swarup

Minister & Deputy High Commissioner of India

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