New York City

Everyone speaks of the energy of New York City—the electricity humming through the streets, the relentless motion of a place that never sleeps. But my residency at the New York Academy of Art offered a stark contrast. It was not the buzz that shaped my experience, but rather the hush of long studio hours, the slow rhythm of breath and pose, as live models sat in stillness atop a stage. My studio was tucked away—small and secluded—in a forgotten corner of an old wool factory, where the only view was a dusty window opening to the unwavering presence of a brick wall.In the basement below, life emerged in clay. There, I sculpted my first two-foot-tall male figure, anatomically precise, and born of silence.

 

It was in that quietude that this series of four paintings began to take form. Each canvas, a meditation on solitude.The first piece was born from a moment of pause. I had been working on a portrait, lost in turpentine and linseed-scented haze, when the headache came. I needed air. I wandered down Franklin Street, turned left, and let the city guide me. Finding a charming place to eat in New York is not hard but on that night, I craved more than food. I craved solitude.

 

That’s when I stumbled into Edward’s in Tribeca. A retro diner, untouched by time. I sat at the bar and noticed it—a single black chair at a classic red vinyl booth, lit by the golden stream of the evening sun. The light kissed the floor and curled around the legs of the chair. There was something sacred in that moment. Stillness. Emptiness. A gentle, aching beauty.

 

What does it mean to be truly alone?

 

In a city pulsing with millions, one might think loneliness is impossible. Yet, paradoxically, you can feel most alone in the thick of it all. As I bowed my head to pray before that first bite of steak, I felt it—not emptiness, but a presence. The Holy Spirit whispered a single word: Create.

 

I smiled, quietly nourished, both body and soul, and hurried back to my studio. I set myself a timer for forty-five minutes. From memory, I painted what I had seen—what I had felt.

 

That painting was the first of four.I repeated this ritual three more times—seeking quiet, seeking the sacred in the mundane, seeking the comfort of being alone but not abandoned. Each restaurant became a source of inspiration. And each painting, a hymn to the quiet voice that finds us when the city is loud but our hearts are listening.