Years, ago — decades, actually — when our family was still living in Trinidad, I commissioned a work from an artist friend. She created this large multimedia piece made of a reclaimed 100-year-old window, an antique key, paint, pencil, wire — a lovely, tactile piece that over the years traveled to the States with us, survived floodwaters, and moved homes quite a few times.
For this move to the UK, we decided the piece — which, by this point, had become really fragile — wasn’t in any shape to make the transatlantic trip. But before we disposed of it, Marcus salvaged the key from the rickety window frame.
The key was rusty and old, and a quick google search revealed that the key is from the late 1700s, or what’s called the Georgian Era.
As it happens, Bath, England, where we’ve moved, is famous for its buildings representing the best examples of Georgian architecture in England. Isn’t that something? We were in possession of a 200+-year-old key from an English colony, and were about to move to a part of England whose architecture is famous from the same time period. It felt weirdly important that I preserve this key, this relic of an incredibly fraught time of my ancestors, both enslavers and the enslaved.
So I had the key framed. And last week, I picked it up. I love it so much, this memento from my homeland. It feels somehow symbolic.
After I hung the key on my wall, I decided to confirm if there was any symbolism associated with keys. There is: apparently, keys symbolize new beginnings and transitions, authority, and knowledge.
This week, Europe is going to experience a solar eclipse. England isn’t in the path of totality, but Bath is slated to experience 93% “obscuration.” Because blue skies are forecast (we haven’t seen a drop of rain since June) (!!), I’m hoping the effect from the phenomenon will be noticeable.
I decided to look up the historical symbolism behind solar eclipses, and apparently, they signify change and transformation.
I’ve decided to use all these little karmic new-beginnings-and-transformation signs as a reminder to keep focused on change. On hope. Because while yes, my life is deep in a state of flux, the word at large feels like it’s in the throes of tumult, as well.
And so, if you’re reading these words, I invite you to join me in holding faith in transformation and new beginnings in your own lives, and for the world at large — as long as that faith is rooted in kindness and light. In hope. Because as the inimitable author Arundhati Roy has written:
Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.
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