The Art of the Brick

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Patience and fortitude conquer

all things. —Ralph Waldo Emerson

PatienCe

and fortitude

lions

When I moved to New York to attend NYU in 1991, I

was just a kid from a small town in Oregon. Like a lot

of college students, I didn’t have a whole lot of cash,

so I had to get a job. I worked my way through college

at a marketing research firm. As part of a small team of

twentysomethings, I found information for marketing

groups so that they could devise their advertising

strategies.

We uncovered the latest trends in instant coffee, what

people wanted from a AA battery, and how many

chocolate chips were in the average chocolate chip

cookie. All the stuff you just jam into Google these

days, that’s the stuff we used to look for. But in 1991,

Larry Page and Sergey Brin were still in high school, so

we found our information the old-fashioned way—at

the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue.

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A lot of the research was pretty dreary. But no

matter how inconsequential my research mission

was, I always got a buzz out of walking up the steps

into thelibrary. Inside, it was just so grand. You

felt like you shouldn’t have the right to be in there.

The massive windows and chandeliers of the Rose

Main Reading Room were surely the private domain

of social notables and scholars, rather than freely

accessible to a student looking for tidbits on cat-food

flavors. Not only was the architecture and interior

gorgeous, but the library itself was “full service.” You

couldn’t just go pick up a book; you had to request

that it be brought from the stack to you.

I loved the place. So when I got a call 20 years

later to help celebrate the New York Public Library’s

turning 100 years old, I was pretty excited. This

excitement faded a little when they emailed me and

asked, “Could you do a rendition of the exterior

of the Public Library building?” I thought that was

the most boring commission ever. I mean, it’s a

nice-enough building to look at. But in a simple

miniaturization, there’d be no discovery or wonder

or awe—all the things that the library contained,

all the things that the library was for me. So I said,

“Let me get back to you,” and thought of what the

library meant to me.

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If you’ve ever visited, you’ll know that flanking each

side of the library steps is a great lion carved from

pink Tennessee marble. On the south side of the

steps lies Patience, while guarding the north end is

Fortitude. The lions were named for the qualities that

New Yorkers characteristically displayed in times of

adversity. For the hundred years of their existence,

Patience and Fortitude had been an integral part of

city life, witnessing innumerable parades, wearing

Mets and Yankees caps to celebrate World Series

wins, and standing strong in 100 million tourist

photographs. For New Yorkers, they’re as much a

symbol of the city as the Brooklyn Bridge.

So I pitched the idea of doing replicas of the lions,

these wise sentinels that had been watching me come

and go for nearly two decades. Happily, the powers

that be at the library agreed, and my re-creations were

unveiled on the steps 100 years to the day after the

original marble lions were presented to the public.

As of this writing, the LEGO lions still sit in the library

lobby, majestically guarding the entrance and, I hope,

simultaneously inspiring some young minds that

are experiencing them for the first time.