Connecticut bridge number 174A is the Pearl Harbor Memorial Bridge (aka Q-Bridge). It carries I-95 over the Quinnipiac River in New Haven: Centerpiece of the $2 billion, New Haven Harbor Crossing Improvement Program. This extradosed bridge was constructed to replace the original 1958 girder and floorbeam structure. Several of our engineers traveled to Japan for design and architectural ideas for this updated structure, ironically enough.

As a young boy in the early 2000s, I saw the old bridge get demolished and the new one take shape—fascinated by how we can add and subtract to these structures with minimal disruptions. In the summer of 2012, I took an internship with the office of construction (consisting mostly of data entries, occasional visits to a project).  Toward the end of the summer, we were brought over to this bridge for an exclusive walk along its newest span before opening it to the public. It was awesome sharing a special moment with this structure, and everyone who had their hands in it.

A couple of years into my career, I had the opportunity to participate in our design office’s inspection rotation. For six months, two of us shadowed an engineering firm while they went out to inspect structures—regardless of the weather outside. Bridge 174A was on their list, and it aligned with our last couple of months there. We were lucky enough to climb inside (beneath traffic) and gaze into the belly of this beast—carrying our dust masks, oxygen meters and concrete crack gauges with us. It brought me back to that summer of my internship in college.

As the first painting in my bridge series (2021-present), Heroes’ Bridge was painted in our first January post-Covid. When our country finally took the pandemic seriously, we were sent home to telework 100 percent—shutting our world down. With no outings or distractions, I hunkered down to prepare for an engineering exam I avoided for years. For nearly nine months, I followed the same routine: working in my dining room “office” during the day, opening my books at night. I painted this one during a self-prescribed break from all of that.

My grandma lived with my mom at the time, so we all isolated—separately. To visit, we crossed this bridge, which was lit red in support of our health care workers, our heroes. It seemed like a good idea when it started: something we could all support. As time passed, and the disease and political mess worsened, it created angst. Driving over the bridge felt like traveling through a portal—emphasizing the need to cover our faces and wash out hands now that our lives depended on it. My idea was to capture beauty, even in trying times.

Rev. 08/2022