FJH art project based on Holocaust child victim’s poem

 

Fairfield Junior High students learn about the Holocaust while creating beautiful art.

“It was the first big project this year for Junior High art students, and mine as a first-year art teacher!” exclaims Laura Meister.

During the month of September, sixth through eighth grade art students participated in The Butterfly Project: A collaborative Art Experience.

“By creating our butterflies, we learned how Art can preserve memory, honor lives, and cultures, and give a voice to history. We are reminded that even the most painful histories must never be forgotten.”

Creating butterfly art to remember the child victims of the Holocaust are Laura Meister’s students at Fairfield Junior High.

The Holocaust, during World War II, brought the deaths of 6 million Jewish people and 1.5 million of those victims were children.

“I told them about the Holocaust,” said Mrs. Meister. “Only a handful had ever heard of it!” I explained how we must always talk about history, even the most terrible parts, because when future generations forget they’re more likely to repeat it. Every butterfly has the name and age of a child that was killed during the Holocaust.”

This project is based off a poem called ‘The Butterfly’ written by Holocaust child victim, Pavel Friedmann, at Theresienstadt concentration camp on June 4, 1942. On September 29, 1944, he was deported to Auschwitz where he was murdered.

She concluded, saying, “My favorite pat was when they finally got to see it all come together. Every class worked on it, so they didn’t get to see the final project or even understand the number of butterflies until the very end.”

‘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 goodbye.
For seven weeks I’ve lived in here,
Penned up inside this ghetto
But I have found my people here.
The dandelions call to me
And the white chestnut candles in the court.
Only I never saw another butterfly.
That butterfly was the last one.
Butterflies don’t live in here,
In the ghetto.