Artist: R.V. Monroe (Robert & Venice Monroe)
Medium: Laser engraving on natural wood, mounted on hand-painted wood panels within a custom wood frame
Dimensions: [Insert Size]
 
 
Expanded Description:
 
The Original New Yorker is not a memory. It’s a presence—alive, still standing, unmoved in the middle of what we now call the city. A figure draped in ancestral regalia, walking through the heartbeat of Manhattan as if time never split. Because in truth, it never did. The city grew tall, but it grew on land that already had feet, names, languages, rhythms, fire pits, sacred laws, and skyward prayers.
 
Before the grid, before Fifth Avenue and sirens, there were Lenape footsteps. There were councils. There was silence thick with wisdom. This piece places that truth right where it belongs—in the center of traffic, in the lane where truth doesn’t flinch.
 
Laser engraved in warm wood, the figure is detailed with feathers, jewelry, and the expression of someone who has seen the world turn and still stands grounded. Their body is wrapped in history, but their eyes are locked on the now. They walk not in resistance—but in authority. Because this land has never been truly taken. Not spiritually. Not completely. Not ever.
 
The city behind them—the blur of yellow cabs, tall windows, rushing people—becomes background. What’s foreground is what’s always been here: Indigenous soul. Indigenous sovereignty. The first rhythm beneath the concrete.
 
The red-orange frame vibrates like signal fire. The golden centerplate glows like a sun that never stopped rising. These choices, made by R.V. Monroe—Robert and Venice Monroe in shared creative force—root the piece in color, balance, and memory. Robert carves the history with sharp clarity. Venice holds the energy, the framing, the ceremonial weight. Together, they don’t reimagine history—they reintroduce it.
 
The Original New Yorker is for the ones whose names were scraped from street signs. For the tribes whose lands were renamed but not forgotten. For the ancestors who walk through steel canyons in spirit, unmoved. It says: You were here before the city. You will be here after it. You are here—still.