Exactly a week ago, the entire world seemed to be transfixed by the gradual movement of Hurricane Gustav in the direction of New Orleans. The epic dimensions of the 2005 Katrina catastrophe, with its attendant proportioning of failure and blame, was very much on people’s minds as they envisioned a second hurricane striking, and perhaps laying waste, to a city still struggling to regain its momentum and equilibrium.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and while this news is itself a source of great consolation, the aftermath of Gustav’s relatively minor sideswipe remains to be measured. I arrived back in New Orleans – I didn’t evacuate, since I was in New York at the time – last Thursday morning (September 4), and was immediately struck by what this city looks and feels like post-evacuation. There was evident relief and even jubilation in seeing old friends, and in celebrating the news we had once again dodged a bullet, and that New Orleans would live to party another day.

But all is not good cheer and frivolity in New Orleans. Much of the city remained without electric power through the weekend; contradictory messages from public officials have left far-flung residents uncertain about when they should return; a strictly enforced curfew is in place (French Quarter establishments hasd to close their doors by 2 a.m.); and those parts of the city that have not fully recovered (i.e., the Lower 9th Ward) were left more isolated than ever.

Hanging over New Orleans is a feeling of displaced trauma. It appears to me that the courageous and passionate citizenry of this city, in their collective and individual struggles to pull themselves out of the muck and mire of three years ago, also tried to put Katrina behind them. The desire to forget, or at least set aside for a while, the nightmare of suffering and destruction from three years ago, seems to have won out, at least until Gustav roared into the Gulf of Mexico. Today the people of New Orleans are jittery, and a bit glum, as they face the first tangible evidence since Katrina of what a hurricane can do. The ubiquitous tree branches and broken glass are not just themselves – they are also symbols of the death-knell that hasn’t happened yet, but of which the people of New Orleans are justifiably terrified.

The good news, if I can call it that, is that everybody involved in Prospect.1 is fine, the biennial sites all seem to be relatively damage-free, and the only outdoor work that was already installed (Ghada Amer’s) made it through Gustav without a scratch. Installation of Prospect.1 begins today, as planned, and artists are steadily beginning to arrive. Tony Fitzpatrick is in town as of yesterday, Alexandre Arrechea arrives today, and Sebastian Preece will arrive tomorrow. The last two are producing pretty complicated works, so they’ll be with us for a while.

This is also the week when we publicly announce the Opening Weekend schedule, so that events become more official, and visitors who plan to be here October 30-November 2 will be able to plan their itineraries in greater detail.

I think that it’s important to frame the above bits of information in the context of everything that’s gone on here over the last week. It’s not simply that people have asked whether Prospect.1 will go forward, although they have. What concerns me the most is that it now feels more incumbent on us than ever before to follow through with Prospect.1.  People here need a reason to celebrate their city beyond all the usual suspects, and people outside New Orleans need to feel that they can participate in the cultural rebuilding of the city, which we believe Prospect.1 will accomplish. I guess it’s a way of saying that Gustav has convinced me – if I was ever in doubt – that organizing Prospect.1 is the right thing to do.