Imposter Syndrome

There is no monument but the present: this is where you stand, as an outcome of all those decisions you made.

Things that are static: walking into an art gallery like pouncing in a white room. You’re not hiding anymore, like on the street, your clothing blending in with the colors around you, or, the classic New Yorker you are, wearing all black, which is even harder to spot. Here in the space, you sense the wildness in yourself. The door to the gallery had been open but everyone seems to wonder why you’re there. You sense them watch you look at the artwork and there is always a feeling of apprehension woven into that silence. Does the artwork say something about them, or does it say something about you? Who has the greater hand here? They stand there in the booth, or in some strategic corner as if to read you. But maybe you’re reading them. Maybe they are the deer in headlights.

Imagine you had the freedom to walked into a room and explain who you are. Not without kindness, but with conviction.

A person’s relationship to their environment has everything to do with the placement of the elements within that space, including, light, color, air quality, and objects there. The way breath moves through a space. We are solid bodies, and sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of a room without expecting it.

But after all of those decisions, here you stand. The statue has moved.