This work is a collaboration between photographer Dave Craige (picture of the child), writer and film maker Paul Lobo Portugés (background poem) and Ina Mar (artwork).

Mixed media: pencil drawing, photo (child, textures), photomanipulation and digital drawing

The project was initiated by Paul Lobo Portugés, as a donation to the organization Haiti Soleil, to save a demolished library in Port au Prince, building literacy amongst Haiti’s impoverished children who’ve suffered from the earthquake (Haiti Earthquake 2010).

PS. If you buy this artwork on Redbubble, 100% of the artist gains will be donated to Haiti Soleil. This will be about 20% of what you are paying for the art print.
Direct donations: www.haitisoleil.org

_"What crime what sin had those young hearts conceived
That lie bleeding torn on a mother’s breast…
The human race demands a word from God." —Voltaire, " Poem on the Lisbon Earthquake" (1775)

the flesh of the city blends its blood with the dust of earth’s grave
the devil quake broke the bones of their beds with its terrorist bomb
they could see the day light of death in the beaten air
feel it in their prayerful souls as the some time glad day sun fell
into forever’s darkness and all the all reeked with the ashes of fear
where is the loving God of married hallelujahs?

all the poor man’s houses falling falling “amid the deepening gloom”
into a tomb for sons of promise and green daughters
their pleasure and pain drowned in a ghost of tears
lost like raindrops on the grey face of the bottomless ocean
vanished like the passing shadows of stories in the imagination of clouds
why oh darkened God of stones God of the Word God of Heaven?

in the once bright light of a schoolyard’s promise silence now bleeds
where young eyes yesterday shouted from their books a belief in tomorrows
now the living dead carry their bodies with loving worms
on the gallows of their bent backs wander the veins of the beaten streets
chanting horror’s verbs black angels mourning the flesh of graves
where is the open hands of God the prodigal Father?

they lie down forever in the weather of their sorrow with the innocent dead
weep for the seed of their breathless children in the blood lit city of gospel sorrow
no glad to be home families no wined friends with hope’s holiday songs
no loving child’s prayers or whispered shut eye no sweet good nights
no these good soldiers of Jesus’ hosannas are the inspired blind no more
to the womb of endless night no to the forsaken God of their brambled loins_

Paul Lobo Portugés

Original photo kindly provided by © Dave Craige