
Item#: 2026SYR12
11x17-inches, printed on heavy weight (100-pound) Hammermill cover paper. We package each print with a piece of chipboard in a clear plastic sleeve.
You also receive…
An information page with photos of the artist and poet, and hand-written comments from each.
A framing coupon, good for a 20 percent discount at Edgewood Gallery, a custom frame shop at 216 Tecumseh Rd., Syracuse.
Medium- and large-format posters are available by custom order. Contact us for details.
Wait for a table.
An Armory Square Friday.
A New York minute.
My life in Syracuse has a hub. Armory Square. Lunch with a friend in the old Packing House Café when Ronald Reagan was shot. Searching for the perfect gift at Eureka’s for people I love, many now gone. Breakfast with a former S.U. student at Provisions. A spontaneous wake in the back room of Lemongrass, after my beloved husband died. Meet-ups at Freedom of Expresso. My second career, artist, my sculpture on display in Art Haus SYR. My painting in a window of closed Eureka. Visits to the Antique Underground. Grandkids skittering around MOST. Decades of meals at Pastabilities. Students of every background and culture taking selfies on a Saturday night. Armory Square, My Lifetime. A New York minute.
The concept of time has long fascinated artists and thinkers. I chose this poem because it captures its subjectivity in a few simple words. The contrast between “waiting for a table” and “a New York minute” reflects how time can feel powerfully slow or disappear in an instant, depending on our perception.
This artwork visualizes that duality through a distorted cityscape, symbolizing constant movement, enclosed within a pocket watch to suspend a moment. Its hands are frozen at two and five, marking and celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Syracuse Poster Project.
My creative psychology is heavily inspired by “The Little Prince,” written by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, and as the fox reminds us, “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.” Time gains meaning through depth, not speed.