Case 009

the secret files of new york art detective

Walter Lin P.I.

The Familiar Shadows

For a year, I’ve been at it. Grinding, pushing, trying to force the pieces to fit together. I’ve taken my old prints and dragged them to their framed conclusions—polishing them until they gleam like something worth holding on to. I’ve built up the website, poured hours into learning the language of SEO, reshaped the studio until it felt like a place where work could actually happen. And then there’s the social media—the endless churn, a tide that never pulls you where you need to go.

I thought all of this would lead somewhere. And it has, I guess. But all I’ve done is arrive at an impasse, staring at a wall that refuses to move.

The work surrounds me, a silent jury. It haunts the studio, claims the walls of my house like a slow-moving shadow. It even lurks beneath my bed, as if waiting for me to trip over it in the dark. I’ve created all this, and yet I can’t seem to find a way to set it free, to get it out where it belongs.

I’ve toyed with the idea of dumping it—just getting rid of the lot, severing the ties that hold me here. But no, that’s a waste, isn’t it? There’s always the notion of a studio sale, but selling it that way feels like admitting defeat. It undercuts the work, makes it feel smaller than it is. And either way, I’m back to the same problem: how do I get people to see it?

Once again, I find myself lost. And this isn’t new—it’s an old, worn-out place. One I’ve been before, one I thought I’d escaped. But here I am, back in its grasp, staring into the same void. Wherever this is, it’s far too familiar.

The only way out is through. I’ve done it before—I’ve clawed my way up and out, found the strength when there didn’t seem to be any left. I’ll do it again. I have to. Because the alternative is letting the shadows win, and that’s a game I’m not willing to lose. Not yet.