Inspired by a moment (24:00) in my interview with Holocaust survivor Rosie Leibman, immediately after she recounted the experience I depicted in “Warmth in the Shadows” (2024): after the elderly woman told Rosie to “Come with me,” she brought Rosie to a cafe to see if someone could hide her from the mob and somehow take care of her now that her parents were taken. Everyone in the cafe refused, and the owner ordered them out of the cafe. The woman then brought Rosie back to her house along with her daughter (Rosie’s classmate), at which point the husband lambasted his wife for bringing her there (“Why did you do that?”). This hostile environment heightens Rosie’s sense of alienation, driving her to withdraw into herself and seek solace in the room’s shadowy corners.
During our interview, as Rosie shared this memory, her voice began to crack, exposing the deep emotional scars that linger. It was as though she was momentarily transported back to that time, embodying the frightened little girl once more, reliving the fear and helplessness of those moments. I too was transported back in time, and I felt as though I was seeing the past through a mirror.
In this acrylic painting on canvas, I depicted Rosie holding a mirror, within which her younger self—the little girl from the cafe—stares back at the viewer. The mirror both juxtaposes and blends Rosie’s older and younger selves, for while she now appears to be an elderly woman, her inner childhood trauma is frozen in time, mostly unseen, within her. The mirror also calls attention to the act of storytelling, prompting us to peer into the past and consider the narratives that forge our collective identity and history. This mirror does more than show a face: it reveals a chapter of life that, despite the passage of time, remains a core part of Rosie’s identity.
Memory is often fragmented, elusive, and subjective, but here, within the mirror’s frame, it is given form and continuity. The survivor’s identity is thus presented as a mosaic of experiences—past pain mirrored in present resilience.
The Nazi plane above the child is another representation of the then-looming (and now-lasting) impact of Nazi rule on every victim and witness. Alternatively, Rosie’s choice to wear the yellow star transforms a symbol of persecution as an emblem of defiant identity and survival. I felt strongly about transforming a mark of oppression into a badge of pride, especially because right after Rosie’s voice broke during our interview, she composed herself and bravely continued her story.
Ultimately, this artwork seeks to engage viewers in a deeper contemplation of the persistence of historical trauma and the complex journey toward forgiveness. It is a reminder that while time moves forward, the echoes of past atrocities resonate within survivors, shaping their realities and, by extension, ours. The mirror is not just a reflective surface but a portal, connecting us with the stories and reflections that underpin Rosie’s sense of self, eternally interweaving memory and identity.
