It's been a month since two powerful hurricanes swept through the Caribbean and changed our lives. The destruction left behind is absolutely astonishing. Everywhere one looks, nothing is the same as before. The eyes of both storms passed directly over St. John. Our home and my studio was boarded up tight, but nothing could prepare us for the amazing strength of the winds which were recorded at 261 mph just one mile away from us. The island was unusually verdant in the weeks leading up to September 6, much rain had fallen throughout the summer, it was very green, exceptionally beautiful and the tourists were beginning to thin out. We spent two days closing every window and door, every opening that would be exposed to weather. As the day grew darker, the rains increased and the sound of the wind turned from just whistling to a tremendous deafening roar which I will never forget. The earth actually shook around us as we huddled together deep in the basement. The pressure of the compounding air which blows roofs off many structures could be felt in our eardrums. As bad things multiplied and unfolded, there were unwise attempts to close shutters that were blown open or off. The hours were filled with horrible moments of fear as wind , rain and debris furiously blew into and through the house. For Two hours the absolute power and rage of the hurricane , the most destructive event the planet has to offer was upon us, right there, it's power cannot be described. We fought to save what we could, yelling at the top of our lungs, moving furniture, strapping, screwing, nailing things shut and somehow persevered. Looking out we could see fragments of things of every size fly past like plastic bags fly on a normal day. As night fell there seemed to be a lull (the eye) and I went outside (!) to check the studio. To my horror, the door of the main room had blown open. The hurricane entered at will and had its way with many paintings. I fought to close that door like I had never fought before and finally in the darkness and violence of the second act of the storm succeeded. My family thought I had perished. Later we heard of two individuals who were sucked out of doorways trying to fight the storm and did not survive. The next morning it was a shock to walk outside. We saw thousands of the largest trees simply toppled over in one direction , roots and all, houses with exploded roofs, boats piled up on distant shorelines, cars flipped over and debris of every kind littered across the hillsides all around. It looked like a war zone after a very, very bad war or the aftermath of the Mt. St. Helens volcanic eruption. There was no way to go any where as the roads were blocked to the degree one could not decipher the forest floor from the road itself. The trees, branches, twigs and billions of macerated leaves piled so deep it was impossible to walk without getting stuck in the quagmire . As the days progressed, news unfolded of each person's story of destruction and loss. Only 12 days later a second hurricane nearly as powerful passed over us. ( what are the chances!) This time we were more prepared, but there was more destruction everywhere. More trees fell and nearly a foot of rain made what was already a mess truly a catastrophe. Day to day living was and continues to be rough. But it has forced our little family closer together in surprising ways; we are humbled, rainwater bucket showers, boiling water to drink, hand washing clothes, no electricity for tools or appliances. We are all working together to get through each day and the broader community does so as well. Its impossible to simply get help from the next state or county since we are on a tiny island. Food, clean water, batteries, dry clothes, even a cup of coffee are hard to get. Many people have left already, many for good. Our son has lost a few friends to the mainland but his school is open and he's doing well. I've been working long days salvaging debris, clearing trees, fixing roofs and hundreds of other broken things. As one looks out to Tortola , Jost Van Dyke, Virgin Gorda, even StThomas or the other islands at night, there are few lights...no power. Some have generators, many do not. Cash is king to get anything done and to make purchases. Our island is very small as it was and now it's smaller. Happily, there has been no looting and few instances of selfishness. I'm writing this on a phone with little hope of getting a connection if for only a few minutes...I'm not sure if Trump is still President or who is in the baseball playoffs. Those things seem unlinked to the day to day struggles we are having here at this time. This year I had just completed a beautiful body of new work and created a better website. The paintings in the studio survived, the studio itself and our home with various damages. Ironically several paintings, like a premonition of some kind, seem to describe the very human vulnerability one experiences in situations like this. I had always used my own body as the figure in the paintings, now I have become that figure in the shifting surroundings the paintings imply. Tragedy strikes many when it's least expected. Tragedy makes subject for some of the greatest art. Some say it is the only subject worth pursuing. In any case this has been a tremendous comeuppance and a life experience that will never be forgotten and will certainly sift its way further into my art.