The Power of Art

When I first saw Schindler's List, I cried so hard that I had a headache for a week and a half.Sitting there in that theatre, I was no longer on the outside looking in, but completely involved with thoese people's lives. I was a part of them, right beside them. It was happening to me.

The largest single massacre of World War II took place in one day in September 1941, when the Nazis shot over 33,000 Jews from Kyiv in Babyn Yar.It was a turning point in the killing strategy of the Nazis. After this mass execution, they began a broader, more impersonal method of genocide by constructing and using gas chambers. Evidently Babyn Yar was too hard on those who had to do the killing.

As a visual artist, I pay attention to monumnets. Some monuments move me, most do not. The ones that move me are those that bring me in on a personal level, that pull not only at my mind, but at my heart. The Vietnam Memorial is so successful as a monument because it personalizes something that's otherwise too big and too broad. By naming each person separately, it honors every single American that fought in that war. It talks of lives, of individuals.

Museums at concentration camps work on a visceral level. They allow us to be in the buildings, see the gas chambers, stand where those that were slaughtered stood before. The environment makes it entirely personal. We are there. And we begin to get an inkling of how horrible it was.

Recently I got a call from a Holocaust Survivor. She had heard of this project and wanted to know what stage it was at. She had been to Babyn Yar and had cried becuase there wasn't enough visual substance there to allow her to properly grieve. There were no buildings to serve as witness to the attrocities committed; there was nothing visceral to help her through her emotions. She needed something on site to sink her heart into. Her call confirmed for me the importance of this project.

Requiem is unlike any other Monument. It takes us into the experience. It envelops us. We become the victims. The faces we see tell everything: terror, disbelief, agony, shock, outrage. These are people caught at the moment of losing their dignity, their faith, their trust in mankind, their hope. She could have been my sister, my mother. He could have been my father, or lover. That child could have been my baby.

Just as Schindler's List drew me in with people to care about and cry over, this sculpture provides that same impact on a personal level for everyone who experiences it. The Vietnam Memorial makes that war personal by naming each individual name. Requiem makes the massacre at Babyn Yar personal by physically portraying its victims caught at their last moments.

This monument will break our hearts and give them back to us, more tender, more open, with more strength. We will not forget the experience.

There are two reasons I believe passionately in this project. First, we must honor the victims and acknowledge their humanity and loss. Very soon the survivors will no longer be around to tell us their stories themselves.

We must also provide hope for the world. There were a few survivors at Babyn Yar. Dina Proncheva, naked and badly wounded, played dead in a pile of corpses and eventually managed to climb out. She saw a small boy who was still alive and was able to help him out as well. The human spirit is stronger than we can imagine.

Showing these two bronze survivors is vital to the spirit of this sculpture. The courage of a lone individual inspires hope for all humanity. From this striking affirmation we know that even in the midst of despair, grace will still prevail. Compassion is not only possible, it is essential. Compassion is the way to change our hearts. And perhaps by changing our hearts, we can gather new strength to change the world.

Sculptor,
Cindy Jackson
2008