Biography of a Stranger

Sandra Bowry,

"What really, truly, inspires me to make art over and over agian?", I thought to my self as I walked back to my loft at the end of the block as I clung to my jacket in the cold New York weather. I reached for my keys in my large satchel I bought in Africa as I grew closer to my destination. My studio was on the eleventh floor of the incredibly tall building and overlooked almost the entire city.  I grasp the cold keys as I unlocked the door and entered the dark room. As I turned on the light, I felt a sense of warming as the smell of paint and chalk filled my nostrils. It’s been a while since I’ve been here in a while and it comforts me to finally return. As I take a seat in my chair. I reflect on the last few days. My trip to France was amazing. My goal on that trip was simply to get lost in the streets and experience all the art and culture that the city has to offer. I met some incredible people, ate some fantastic food, and looked at some sculputes and paintings that could redefine the word "talent". I've seen some interesting things but I still didn't have an answer to my own question that was eating away at me.

   Thinking back to France once agian...In those days I thought to myself,"Hey! why dont I just move here? There's no one holding me back in New York and this place is obviously perfect for me." But as you noticed, I'm back in the city.
    I was sad as I sat looking at my quiet studio. I knew there was a reason I always come back to this very city. I've been all over the world and have seen some of the greatest wonders that you can only imagine. But there was always the hidden reason that brought me back here and I never seemed to grasp it.
    I looked around for a while. I left the place a mess when I left and I knew it. I began cleaning up all of the oil paint tubes that I left in a collection on the floor, I lined up all my new and used canvases agianst the wall, and I hung other works on the wall and made sure that they were perfectly straight. I rehung the string of lights I had hanging over the sink, and  I finished my cleaning I started thinking and looked out the window and onto the streets.
   I was still a little upset with myself like I always am when I return from another trip. "Why did I come back here? I dont' really talk to anyone here, and all the places I visit seem so much better then where I am now. But then I had an epiphany. I looked out the window and saw several different people walking on the streets and they looked as if they all belonged in different univiverses from one another. New York City is where anyone can come and make it in their own way. It doesn't matter what they speak, see, believe, or do for a living. They are accepted here and live with thousands of other people who make this city unique. I now remembered why I AKWAYS come back to NYC. I can travel to all the amaizing places that I want. But then I come home to the city, it's like a giant collage of everything I see around the world. This was my home, the one that I will always come back to no matter how spectacular the rest of the world may seem. I have everything I need here in the city. Different religions, cultures, and worlds reside here and thats what inspires most of my work.