October 4th, Philadelphia City Hall, 1400 John F. Kennedy Blvd., from 8:30 -10:00 am.

Photographs by Annie Lesser

The morning hour was grey, cold and drizzly.  As I arrived on site, and began to lay down my cape, however, the rain had stopped and I felt a sense of relief come into my shoulders, and belly. I decided to set-up in the central arena of City Hall for my kneel-in.  I looked around and took in the monstrous proportions of the structure on all sides of me.  Philadelphia’s seat of governance houses all three branches of authority, has nine floors, 700 rooms and is the largest free-standing masonry building in the country. The walls are up to 22 ft. thick.  This building has weight, and I could feel it when I was kneeling inside the circle of brick and limestone.  I looked up at all the windows and wondered at the employees up there, performing their 9-5 jobs.  Pedestrians were making their way to work from out of the subway stairwells.  Many of them had official I.D. tags hanging around their neck.  Most of them did not stop to look at my cape, after all, being on time is important to keeping your job.  I know this from losing a job I had had in Philadelphia in the 80’s.  I consistently ran late because I’d often paint pictures into the 3:00 a.m. morning hour. Many of these strangers walked on by and remained estranged.

Being estranged from or being a stranger is a zig-zag sort of road. One may lean back into separateness or come forward and risk vulnerability.  Toni Morrison wrote in her essay, Stranger, “Why would we want to know a stranger when it is easier to estrange another?”  I realize that for many who have happened upon me, I am both an unexpected image, and a strange body.  While most people walk on by, some pedestrians have indeed, come toward me with concern, curiosity, and gratitude. I cannot know what they think, but sometimes, I sense what they may feel through their eyes.  Perhaps they recognize something about their own lives in the letter.  As we have gazed at each other for just moments of time, something is recognizable. I cannot form a language for this recognition, but even a glance can create an openness between our bodies.   The pause in our silent mutual looking makes it both an everyday event and an extraordinary occurrence.  

The random meeting of persons is mysterious. Making eye contact can be risky with a stranger. How often do strangers gaze at each other for longer than a split second. Just that. I’d say most of us look away as quick as a whip. In the step forward, in the reach toward a stranger, the vulnerability or even the danger can be formidable. But I wonder how much we lose when can’t allow ourselves to actually see each other. Looking is not the same as seeing. Looking is a way to navigate, collect, scan, consume; it feels like it comes from the front of my eyes. Seeing has awareness, aliveness, and receptivity. I think if we look long enough, we start to see better, and we may begin to receive the other. All of us want to be seen, but not necessarily looked at.

Everyone who approaches me, stands behind me and, I cannot see what they see or do. I don’t turn my head because I want him or her or they to have complete privacy.  With my back to them, I remain anonymous; I can be anyone, from anywhere. I am mostly looking at my environment, and I am seeing pedestrians walking by.  My letter is a weight, an ask, a desire to be known, but it is also a history, a residue.  I sometimes forget exactly what the letter says.  I know it disturbs others.  I see it in their face. Often they do not choose to reveal their dismay, horror, sadness or other wily feelings, but nonetheless it is there.   I wish to give the viewer space to absorb my letter.

What passersby look at and what they see can be very different things. Sometime in the morning, a Black woman came to me and said, “Can I ask you what this is about…  I can’t really see the whole thing?”

I was taken aback for a moment because I didn’t know how to respond to her question.  It made me feel awkward.  I said, “Uhh, did you read parts of it?”

“Yes, I read some of it…yeah,” she said.

“And what was it for you?”  I said.

“He was a police officer….. he strangled mom…..and things like that…. And no more…uh.. something…..”  I sensed her curiosity, and resistance running side by side like railroad tracks, zig zagging with strained ambivalence.  I remembered that my cape is not entirely legible and I think she may have been afraid to open it up. In past meditations, I have sensed other’s unease in wanting to touch my cloak.  Having spent decades metabolizing the dark history of my family, I don’t realize how shocking it can be for others who look at it for the first time.  I can’t possibly get inside others’ misgivings, or hesitancy, but it’s important that I respect their fear.  I have to be aware that they are seeing this for the first time.

“Well, you can pull open the cape… if you want. Yeah…. and you can read it.”

“I don’t want to mess it up.” She said. 

“It’s okay, you can open it up as much as you want .…. What’s your name?” 

“Sarina,” she said.

“Well, take your time,” I said.  Again, she seemed hesitant as she moved slowly behind me with her dog. 

“Yeah, you can open it. Thank you for being so respectful.”  I said.

“I think it’s beautiful, a lot of work to do this…. very artistic.” She said.

“Thank you.” I said.

Then, I think more people had come behind me, and they opened up my cloak.  However, honestly, I don’t remember what happened next, so many people had come in and out of this circle of traffic, passing, glancing, taking the subway, eating, drinking coffee, pushing carriages, and texting, among other things.  Toni Morrison wrote in her same essay, “I am in this river place - newly mine.” That was how it felt.

As time goes on, I listen to bits of conversations, I see pictures taken, and I hear their questions, but I will never know what others truly feel.  I can assume too much about someone so easily on first glance.  I remember feeling a little afraid of this Black woman because she had a good-sized dog with her and being on one knee makes me more susceptible to danger. My body and my thoughts traveled through random ideas, and feelings. 

What’s her dog going to do?

Breathe.

The temperature is perfect.

The air feels good.

Oh! Here comes someone!

There they go….

Really? No Interest?

Seriously, what’s the chance of you running into a cape like this?

I want some coffee

I saw a cafe a few blocks away….

I think.

Is she still here? Where’s her dog?

Wonder what it’s like to be in those offices all day?

What’s the interior like?

Oh my….. 9-5 drudgery.

Oh, I shouldn’t think that…

Hell… how do they stand it?

I need to practice more yoga.

Gotta make more time.

Where’s my photographer?

Will anyone talk to me?

Inhale

Exhale

Concentrate

Be here.

Gosh, I’d love a cappucino and a croissant.

Oh, look! Here come two more people.

My thoughts are not Zen-like at all, just phenomena up and down and around. Sometimes this is exhausting. Sometimes, I notice that I’m waiting and this is can be excruciating. I wish to be

HERE.

NOW.

It is the hardest thing I have ever done. 

I know I would be more awake and present to passersby, to strangers, if I could calm the noise of thoughts, desires, and aversions.  Strangers who approach me might feel my presence more.  This presence can’t be located, spoken of, or captured in a photograph, but it has great power.  I wish to be in my power so I could stop looking and really see.