the experience as deeply as I can," he recalled. "I have the gear on and I'm hot and sweaty, dying for a drink, and I'm having the experience along with the soldiers."
If there was a quiet moment, Fay would do field sketches, often with dirt, sweat, and other conditional realities mixed in. These works provided both artistic and historical on-the-spot testimonial, coveted by historians. At night, Fay worked in an ad hoc studio on base. Often with only a blue headlamp to guide him, he sketched emblematic images from the day.
Back at home, Fay created bodies of work based on his notes, photographs, and sketches. With quiet, time, and perspective on his side, he could lay out entire collections and use materials that were not compatible to the harsh field conditions, such as watercolors and oil paints. All works based on his four deployments, both from the field and back at home, are now part of the collection of the National Museum of the Marine Corps.
No matter the assignment or branch of military, almost all combat artists have had firsthand wartime experience. This was no exception for Fay, who named November 16, 2005, as his darkest day on duty. In his New York Times blog series "Drawing Fire: Into Ubaydi," Fay narrated his experiences in Operation Steel Curtain, a battle against Iraqi insurgents along the Euphrates River, during which many young soldiers were killed and wounded.
Even in these dangerous and emotionally raw situations, Fay believes the presence of an artist -- once there is rapport -- can actually be a major morale booster for the soldiers. "For guys facing their own mortality," he explained, "feeling that what they're doing is important and won't be forgotten is extremely motivating."Fay blogged, "For many of us it would be a long journey back to anything close to wholeness and equilibrium. Like our buddies who carried the dead to the waiting helos hours before, we too would feel the weight of their presence pulling on us for years to come." It would take Fay years to finish a collection based on this experience.
Since his retirement from the Marines in 2009, Fay has continued his mission to visually chronicle the effects of war on troops. As founder of the Joe Bonham Project -- a group named after the limbless, faceless character in Dalton Trumbo's antiwar novel Johnny Got His Gun -- he and about a dozen professional artists are now documenting the recovery experience of wounded service members through art.
Since the program's inception, the artists have sketched soldiers with everything from bullet holes and shrapnel burns to colostomy bags and missing limbs, primarily at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. So far, hundreds of works of art have been created, with gallery shows already presented at the University of North Carolina, Charlotte, and at Storefront gallery in Brooklyn, New York. This November there will be a show at the Pepco Edison Place Art Gallery in Washington, DC.
So how do these wounded warriors feel about having artists capture their ravaged bodies? Contrary to general assumption, Fay insisted the soldiers are not self-conscious about being sketched. He told the story of Specialist Derek McConnell, who lost both of his legs in combat. McConnell asked artist Victor Juhasz, "Do you want to see everything?" and proceeded to take off his shirt to reveal severe stretch marks, a bag, and wounds that had gone septic. "These guys understand why we are there, and they are really willing to open up to us," noted Fay.
In addition to sketching the service members, the artists also ask to hear their stories. Oftentimes family members are in the room, hearing for the first time how their loved ones were injured. "In a way, this is how we give them visibility, too," Fay pointed out. "We're not afraid of asking the tough questions everyone is afraid to ask…they want their sacrifice to count."
Fay wishes more people talked to troops about their experiences, instead of trusting video games or Hollywood to shape their perspectives on war: "I think culture is formed 