Reflecting on the 25th Anniversary of 9/11
Twenty‑five years. A quarter of a century. It’s hard to believe that much time has passed since the morning that changed our country, our sense of safety, and the trajectory of so many lives. It remains one of those moments you remember with absolute clarity — where you were, what you were doing, and how the world seemed to shift in an instant.
For many of the dancers I photograph today, 9/11 is something they learned about in school or through stories from parents and teachers. Most of them weren’t even born yet. Their relationship to that day is historical, not lived. But for those of us who were old enough to witness it, the memories remain vivid.
Where I Was on September 11, 2001
Twenty‑five years ago, my photography business was still just a nights‑and‑weekends passion. My full‑time career had me traveling often, and on that particular week I was in Los Angeles for a business conference. I’ve always preferred flying in a day early to settle in, adjust, and get ready for the event. And like many East Coasters, the first few days on the West Coast I tend to stay on my home time zone — which meant I was up bright and early in my hotel room, watching the morning news.
The first reports were confusing: a possible small plane hitting one of the towers. No one knew what had happened or why. I remember sitting there, trying to make sense of the images on the screen. And then, live on television, I saw the second plane hit. In that moment, the confusion evaporated. We all understood exactly what was happening.
The conference didn’t start on time. At one point, they told us it was cancelled entirely and put us on alert because of our proximity to Disneyland. Thankfully, that alert never materialized. Eventually, the organizers realized that no one was going anywhere — flights were grounded indefinitely — so they held an abbreviated version of the conference. But the tone was somber. Conversations weren’t about business; they were about home, family, safety, and when flights might resume.
Rental cars disappeared almost instantly. No one knew how long we’d be stranded. I was fortunate to get on a flight that Friday. Flying into Newark and looking out the window at the still‑smoldering skyline — a skyline that no longer looked like the one I grew up with — was chilling in a way I will never forget.
Why I Photograph the Memorials
Since then, I’ve been drawn to the places of remembrance — the Tribute in Light, the memorials along the Hudson, and especially the Empty Sky Memorial at Liberty State Park. There’s something powerful about standing in those spaces, camera in hand, watching people move quietly through the names, the reflections, the steel, the light.
Long exposures blur the figures into soft motion, almost ghostlike. The memorial walls catch the glow of the city and the Tribute in Light, creating a visual reminder that memory and movement coexist. The skyline has changed, but the impact of that day continues to ripple through time.
Photography has always been my way of processing emotion, documenting history, and honoring stories. These memorials — and the people who visit them — tell a story of resilience, grief, unity, and remembrance. Every year, I feel compelled to return, to capture the light, the names, the quiet moments, and the way New York still stands.
Twenty‑Five Years Later
As we mark the 25th anniversary, I’m reminded that memory is both personal and collective. My dancers may not have lived through that day, but they dance in a world shaped by it. My photographs may not change history, but they help preserve the way we remember it.
To everyone who lost someone, to everyone who served, to everyone who still feels the weight of that morning — we remember. We honor. We continue.
Here are some images of the Empty Sky memorial I’ve captured in the past:
