| "The Butterfly" | |
| The last, the very last, So richly, brightly, dazzlingly yellow. Perhaps if the sun’s tears would sing against a white stone.... | |
| Such, such a yellow Is carried lightly ’way up high. It went away I’m sure because it wished to kiss the world good-bye. | For seven weeks I’ve lived in here, Penned up inside this ghetto. But I have found what I love here. The dandelions call to me And the white chestnut branches in the court. Only I never saw another butterfly. |
| That butterfly was the last one. Butterflies don’t live in here, in the ghetto. |
| Pavel Friedman, June 4, 1942 |
| Born in Prague on Jan. 7, 1921. Deported to the Terezin Concentration Camp on April 26, 1942. Died in Aushchwitz on Sept. 29, 1944. |
Whether it was the fact that my early childhood was in a Jewish neighborhood, or that the mother of my first childhood "crush" was a survivor of the camps; I have always held a special place in my heart for the Jewish people and especially for the victims of the Holocaust. So when I heard about the Butterfly Project by the Holocaust Museum in Houston, it wasn't a question of "if" but "what" shall I make. The inspiration for this, was the poem itself. I tried to put myself in the ghetto or a camp, & think about what seeing a golden butterfly would represent. It would represent Hope of a life outside these walls, Freedom to fly wherever without fear or cruelty, and Life instead of death.
This is the piece I am sending for the Butterfly Project. You can learn more about it here.
