A bird perched in a small tree

I often compare myself to a little bird. A small bird that sits by the Hudson River and looks out over New Jersey, thinking, 'No matter how hard I flap my wings, I don't think I'll ever cross that wide river.' Everything around me looks big. When I walk into a large, dark gallery displaying video works, my chest feels tight. I can't focus on the artwork and keep flapping my wings towards the exit. The same goes for large art museums. It was so grand and big that I had no idea where to start, so I went outside and sat on the stairs.

Last Saturday, after wandering around Central Park and Riverside Park, I somehow ended up going to Canal Street in Chinatown. I opened the gallery door and entered. For a moment, the little bird stopped flapping its wings as it came down the Hudson River and felt that it could rest for a while in a cozy space. Small works filled the walls on three sides. Everything was visible at a glance, but the pieces were so small that I had to look closely.

These are the works of artist Alexa Grace. Here is her introduction to the artist:

'Alexa Grace’s illustrated sculpture is soft spoken and fragile with an understated wit. Each piece is like a small stage set with little cartoon characters as the actors.'

A short man greeted us in the middle of that small space. If there had been a big man occupying a small space, I wouldn't have stayed there as long as I did. He was using it as a gallery and his own workshop. He continued his story by showing the small dark gray box-within-a-box-within-a-smaller-box work he had made. So, to put it simply, they can be said to be similar to Russian Matryoshka dolls, but they are minimal pieces with a completely different feel. He worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art for 26 years making boxes to store and protect art pieces. After retirement, he created a space to display, create, and preserve art..

The reason I've been talking at length about that gallery-workshop space is because the image of me breaking up with him never leaves my mind. Strangely, when I introduced my name ‘Sooim’ to him.

“Remember me. “My name, Sooim, sounds like swimming. .”

I even pretended to swim with both hands.

“I like swimming. But I can’t do it anymore.”

He looked down at his legs and said,

“Oh my, aren’t your legs strong enough to stand and talk for this long?”

“No, it can’t bend its knees, it’s just a leg like a tree.”

"Oh! do you mind if I, a little bird, come and rest on your tree branches often?”

I swallowed the words that were about to come out.

He rode the elevator down with us and stood until we were out of sight, then said he would go in.