A Quartet Of Photographers

By SHANNON HICKS

Published: Feb 01, 2008 12:00 am

A Quartet Of Photographers

How often is it that four famous photographers share their passion with the community of Newtown?

Beginning on Friday, February 1, in The Olga Knoepke Memorial Room at the Booth Library, a celebrated foursome of photographers will openÂ their exhibit to the public. Art Anderson, Bob Berthier, Frank Gardner and Carol Gibson, all award winners, will have a presentation of photographs encompassingÂ an extensive collection of themes.

In black and white or color, the images look like watercolor paintings, abstract still-life, or scenes of grandeur that are emblematic of our nationâs natural beauty. The collection will remain on view until the end of the month and can be visited any time the library is open.

On Thursday, February 7, at 11:30 am, Mr Berthier and Mr Gardner will present a slide show sponsored by Newtown Womanâs Club, to which the public is invited.

A reception will follow the slide show.

C.H. Booth Library is open Monday through Thursday from 9:30 am until 8 pm, Friday from 11 am until 5 pm, Saturday from 9 am until 5 pm, and Sunday from noon to 5 pm. Call 426-4533 or visit CHBooth.org for additional information.

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To the children and their parents: I have delayed this message for eight months because I was in a dark place following the last two of my nine surgeries, in December and February. I apologize for the lack of clarity that resulted. Now again in the light, I want to express my sincerest and deepest gratitude for the life you have given me. For the honor and privilege and indescribable responsibility you have bestowed upon me, as your children’s pediatrician. Twenty five years ago, I was brought to Sandy Hook to practice alongside a friend and colleague. We built something together. And then life, in its stark and brutal efficiency, took that away. A spinal cord injury following the first of those surgeries almost broke me. Just months after that, our community also fractured. The deaths at Sandy Hook Elementary School occurred soon after my paralysis. I learned to walk again—or rather, I had accepted that I would never walk normally, when the loss of life—the only lives I have ever lost in my career as a pediatrician—brought me to my knees. This is what I learned. Three decades of pediatrics have taught me to Live—Love—Learn—Laugh—Listen—Lead. Not in the order you may think or that we may have learned, but in the order we actually come to living a meaningful life. You cannot learn if you don’t listen. You cannot listen if you cannot laugh at yourself—as I have many times in an exam room acting and being ridiculous. You cannot laugh unless you feel free to love—and I truly loved your children, not as abstractions, but as the specific, irreplaceable persons they are. You cannot love without living fully in the present moment. And living fully allows you to lead. Leading requires understanding what you can control and accepting what you cannot. Everything else simply follows. To chase what you cannot control, to chase what follows, is to run behind, never catching what the moment brings. Babies still make me cry. After nearly thirty years, they still make me cry. Two cells become a living human with infinite potential. There is something inexplicable and unknowable in that transformation. I have never grown past that, never wanted to. It is the source of my own personal faith and spirituality. Physics teaches us that energy is never lost. I believe the energy instilled in a child—the force that makes them who they are—is forever. It never truly vanishes. It changes form. It is unique to each living creature. It moves through us, between us, around us. You can feel it in a newborn’s grip. You can see it in a child’s eyes when they recognize you and smile. You can sense it in a room when a family holds their baby for the first time, or says goodbye for the last time. Whatever that energy is— life, spirit, potential, love—it persists. Changed by time, expressed differently by each person, but it remains around us, if not part of us. Anyone who has loved and lost has felt it. Perhaps, unexplained, it is simply accepted as a feeling. I believe it is more complex and never knowable by us, at least not now, not here, as we know space-time. No pediatrician or parent in this community could ever fail to acknowledge how the school shooting tore our community apart. Forever grieving, I will not be defined by that darkness. Instead, I have chosen to be defined by my love of the color purple. I choose butterflies, horses, and whales. I choose kindness and neurodiversity. I choose the memory of our children as they lived and as they were, not by how they were taken. I remember them. I have spoken out and will continue to act. But I will not be imprisoned by that day. I choose laughter as it is the best and sometimes only medicine; and I choose to laugh and lose rather than win and want. 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A Quartet Of Photographers

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