A week ago, I found myself in the heart of New York at dusk, where my origins lay, my home that continuously calls to me. I felt like an outsider in both regions – grounded, yet paradoxically, feeling as if I were floating among celestial bodies.
A unique public art initiative by Lithuanian artist Benediktas Gylys served to connect the extensive 3,000-mile distance between New York and Dublin. It was a digital gateway, teeming with unpredictable individuals, shining amidst the hustle and bustle of the Flatiron district. The object took on the round shape of a ship’s porthole or a space station’s dome, offering no reflection like on Zoom and no means of verbal communication. This remoteness and silence gave us, the bipedal species, something to overthink.
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For over ten years, I have been observing Dublin on social media, and the nostalgia accompanying it often makes me feel like a marooned astronaut on a space station, longing for home. After lengthy periods of absence, I re-emerge for brief visits; however, I am always bound by time, necessitating another departure to my ‘other’ home. This digital doorway was the most tangible representation of my current state: holding dual citizenship of the USA and being a past legal foreigner, caught in the grip of an involuntary and deliberate interplay between these two homelands.
Beneath the crimson hue of Dublin’s traffic signals, the diversity of the few individuals present was as evident there as it was here. A young man amongst the cosmonaut-like group on North Earl Street scribbled his Instagram username on his iPhone, hoisting it for our viewing pleasure – a tribute to the demise of unplanned analogue interactions. A young girl, donning a baseball cap, guzzled what appeared to be Fanta, offering us a universally recognised gesture of friendliness – a thumbs-up. A man of Asian heritage fashioned a ‘heart’ symbol with his hands, maintaining it for an extended period.
Shortly after witnessing the radiant light of the portal on that Manhattan street, those who know me inquired, “Did you recognise anyone?” It’s such a typically Irish query, but understandable nonetheless. Indeed, I was looking out for a familiar face. I hadn’t planned to have a ‘meet-and-greet’ at North Earl Street and Broadway intersection. After all, I could do that via Zoom. But I was so eager to see someone I recognised. In a fleeting moment, I even thought to myself, “That person looks familiar…” But it wasn’t.
We found ourselves, intrigued and seemingly from another planet, in an electronic enclosure where beams replaced bars. We were grinning, gawking, and according to whispers, carrying out some mischievous activities. I felt uneasy without access to my thoughts. I waved uncertainly. An exuberant American woman flashed a peace sign at the Dublin crowd. “They reciprocated,” she said, as if observing animals in a sanctuary. It was a gentle interaction, two orbiting habitats silently crossing through different time dimensions, making a conscious effort to perceive each other, albeit briefly. We felt goofy, exposed, clumsy but also enlivened.
The portal’s most significant deception is in convincing us that we can simultaneously exist in two locations, making us overlook our physical separation and discrepancies. A double-decker bus passed by, bringing with it a wave of nostalgia for the sombre figure I envisaged inside with their forehead resting against the glass window, drowsy, returning from an early supper with friends, ready for an evening in front of the television with a few Fig Rolls and a steaming cup of tea. I wondered if that was me on the bus. Was I the person who was out of my sight?