Renaissance and September 11
In the following days I did the kinds of things we all did. I planted flags in my front yard. I walked through barricaded streets near the White House to get to Mass at St. Matthew's Cathedral in downtown D.C., part of a noontime crowd packed shoulder-to-shoulder and overflowing down the steps to the street. I stocked up on water and canned goods. I filled out countless "in case of emergency" forms for my children's schools. I even bought those silly anti-radiation pills.
But not long afterward, I felt a need for something different. I talked the kids into spending a Saturday visiting the National Gallery of Art. I needed to see artworks so fine that they could only be achieved through a lifetime of dedication. I needed to see evidence of creativity, and I wanted them to share it with me. It was a wonderful day.
Now, six years after the 2001 acts of hatred, we exhibit an awakwardness about September 11. We're self-conscious. Are we remembering enough, mourning enough, forgetting too much, recovering too fast? Bin Laden himself tries to stoke the memories in his own, twisted way. But my psyche doesn't need the reminders. I don't mourn that way. I have to move on. For me, focusing on creation and beauty is the best repudiation of the destruction and hatred that took primacy that day.
I would love to see a new and very different commemoration of this date. It should be a national day of art and creation. Let orchestras unveil new symphonies. Let poets recite special, new works. Let cities across the country host arts fairs, with awards for new creations. The White House could award medals for finest American creation. This wouldn't be a day for rehashed, Live-Aid scale music festivals; it would be a day for Bono and bohemians alike to unveil new works, whether they be commemorative of September 11 or evocative of something else entirely.
Creativity would be the perfect, and very American, way to rise above the destruction.

