09/11/2024
It was around this date, approximately 2003 when I made my maiden voyage to New York City. I had been asked to be part of a gallery exhibition, and I could not miss it, so I made the 12 hour journey by bus.
When I arrived to the art show, I was welcomed by so many virtual friends that I had come to know and love through the platform, Flickr. It was the most beautiful homecoming ever.
A few days after that glorious opening, I went with a few friends down to the gallery district in Dumbo. We spent the afternoon enjoying each venue and taking in the glorious experience of seeing so much art in one place.
A friend of mine and I decided to venture outside to grab some shots while the sun was setting.
We spotted a small open air near the water bridge. We quickly pulled out our cameras and started taking pictures of each other, and then walked along a path to find this beautiful sculpture.
The light that radiated from inside the fragmented cast iron body, reminded me of how I envisioned how I wanted my first journey to New York to be: I was discovering myself and breaking through the cage of skin and bones, which held me back for so many years.
Without words, my friend, and I stood looking at this beautiful figure in Lotus position on a podium overlooking the Brooklyn bridge. We were enamoured and mesmerized by its complexity and dichotomous simplicity.
We pulled out our cameras from our bags and began to take pictures.
But within a few minutes, the light went out for what seemed absolutely no reason. In a pregnant pause, we stood there, looking at each other, dumbfounded.
“Well if that’s a sign, I really don’t know how to interpret it lol”.
Just in the distance, we heard the sound of a young woman’s voice, shouting. She ran up to us, her hands in the air, terribly distraught.
“ Oh my God! Did you take a picture? This is my sculpture! They were supposed to cut the gas only tomorrow, and I was supposed to come back and take pictures! I never even got to take any pictures!”
As luck would have it, this was the sculpture who had created this iconic statue now overlooking the skyline of Manhattan.
“Yes I did, and so did my friend. We can send them to you if you’d like?”
She was eternally grateful and so very relieved. We later connected, and I gave her this print as a memory of that afternoon.
She shared with me the story behind this beautiful sculpture, which was so deeply moving and inspiring. It was the story of a woman who had felt trapped in her life, who moved across the ocean to pursue her dreams as an artist. When she created this piece, she remembered how she felt herself shattering from within, a process of transformation, painfully cracking from the outside in order to let her light of inspiration and life’s purpose flood out.
I remember when she told me the story, we both wept inside her gallery space.
“I hope that New York City allows you to crack open and shine your light to the world.”
Those beautiful moments are my touchstones whenever I’m feeling distraught or hopeless.
And now 21 years later, I often return to my second home, and immerse myself in the magic and mystery that that is New York City. It feeds me, it nurtures me, and it inspires me.
I would have thought that 21 years later, New York City would be such an important part of my life - so many transformations, so many discoveries, so much shedding, and so much light now allowed to shine through me.
Thank you Paige Bradley for stepping out of your comfort zone, for creating this phenomenal testament to your courage and for inspiring me to find my own in the magical city that never sleeps.
