I started as a question in the mind of an artist. How to bring the abstract into the concrete world? How to sculpt theoretical ideas? His thoughts swirled in every direction. His pen tried to connect the dots in his brain. His imagination was piqued by the great sculptures of the world. How they remained from centuries gone by and yet gazed into a future beyond themselves. A bridge between generations; beyond a single lifetime. His imagination ran wild.

I whispered in his ears, but he couldn’t quite make out my words. Not at first. He managed a spark of an idea. He sketched. He pondered. A lighthouse of a sort. Giving guidance. Leading ships to new worlds. Each time I murmured in his ears, another piece of the puzzle clicked.

I spoke to his creativity. He wrestled to bring my words to life. A colossal idea needed a colossal messenger. He drew. So many drawings! The subject was important to get right, to convey my message. A light HOUSE wouldn’t do. A building cannot carry the light, it only contains it. The light needed a person to transport it; to show movement; a symbol of light spreading outward. Hope permanently personified. Beckoning. Shining into the darkness. Shards of light embodying hope to all eyes which gazed upon it.

My whispers begot ideas. Ideas begot sketches. Sketches begot plans. Plans begot the real work of creating art. Art begot me. It gave me life. I became more than a concept. I became a representation; a symbol.

Finally, the artist understood my words. He integrated them all in his design. His inspiration came from many people and places. A woman. A poor woman. An outcast? Possibly. Certainly, one without power or privilege in a worldly sense. Yet, she stands. Lifting the lamp of liberty. A guiding light for those who have given up everything for freedom. Her eyes…my eyes…understand. They are determined. Serious. They know the hardship and long journeys of those who stare into them.

Chains of bondage lie at my feet. I told the artist that slavery should have no place on these shores. I was firm on this matter. Oppression is broken here. I thought his idea of the broken chains was a stroke of brilliance.

The law tablet I clutch, bears the date the Declaration of Independence was signed. Tyranny ended for those who broke free and found a new land. I spoke too many words for the artist to inscribe them all. However, the carved date alludes to the values of freedom…all men are created equal and have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Another sign of creative genius.

The crown on my head has seven prongs pointing outward to the seven continents of the world. I was unveiled as “Liberty Enlightening the World.” My torch was and is the hope of liberty. A beacon. Liberty for those who don’t know genuine freedom. For those who know the meaning of oppression. For those who know what real persecution is.

I hear their cries. I see them reach for me. I know the sound of relief as they see me for the first time. The deep release of breath from those who have made it to safe shores. A sigh. Usually with tears streaming down their faces, like the ones on my own face.

I see the eyes of those who believe in my ideals. I see them grapple when those ideals are in question. The words I whispered to the artist were abstract. He made them “see-able.” The invisible idea of liberty held up by the people is powerful…it is my revelation. The sea of humanity, being united. Freedom became visible in Lady Liberty. I am beautiful if I do say so myself.

The artist heard me. He did not let go of my vision until he made it a reality. It was no small task. A team of ingenious minds collaborated, until I was complete for all to see. I still stand. I still hold my torch. I still disperse hope for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear…both from outside this country and from within. Don’t give up. Even now.