beauty and meaning. At the New Jeru- salem Church, the obvious meaning is Christianity — depictions from the Bible.
This leads to the obvious: how much
of Aleksandra’s endeavor was an act of faith? “Although I was raised as a Catholic, I did not know God when I first came here,” she said. “But now I have come to know Him. He is something I did not expect to find.” What she had expected, and very much wanted, was fame. That, of course, is what few young artists will admit to wanting, and what fewer of them ever receive. She was then in her third year of training at the Fine Arts Institute in Krakow. Without impugning that ancient city, it can be said that in the minds of most Americans, thoughts of fine art do not readily lead to Krakow. “However, it is one of the intellectual centers of Europe, and has been for centuries,” Aleksandra said. “Cultur- ally, it is like Paris or Rome.” Its distance from Atlantic City, in other words, is a span of the mind as well as of miles. But it is a distance she gladly crossed, that summer of 2005, because she had always wanted to see America. After finding an apartment in not the most genteel part of the city, she was robbed at gunpoint. But she stayed. Something about Atlantic City intrigued her, particularly the stained glass windows of the Pentecostal church she passed daily near the corner of Indiana and Arctic avenues. “It reminded me of home,” she said. “I
was used to seeing stained glass every- where in the buildings of Krakow, so I felt a strong attraction to the church.” Day after day she knocked on its
double doors, until one morning they were opened by Pastor Pablo Tavarez. When Aleksandra said she wanted to look at the glass, he led her inside. She told him of the training she had received, and he told her of his need for someone with such training. Thus a match was made, perhaps in heaven. Immediately, Aleksandra began repairing windows. Two months later she returned to Poland to finish her master’s degree, but the following summer found her back at the church, where she stayed. And stayed. Through summer heat, winter cold, Aleksandra persevered, usually alone, repairing or replacing approximately two hundred windows.
20 Spring 2012 | LIFESTYLE
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The thirty-five that remain should take her another year. While the windows were being
“Sometimes I ask myself why I live in a city of slot machines,” Aleksandra said, “But then I look around myself, at these windows, and I know.”
revived, much of the church was revived with it. The town’s casinos may have been languishing, but the former African Methodist church—which for years had been vacant—was flourishing once again. The inside of the stone edifice was almost completely rebuilt. Judging the photographs Aleksandra showed of herself working on the windows, she changed also. “At first I wore old clothes. But then I thought: I should dress like a European lady. So now I wear a nice blouse, a skirt or a suit. This is hard work, and I could easily become like a man. I will not allow that.” Manual labor usually leaves its mark
on one’s hands. But Aleksandra’s were smooth. “My spirit protects me,” she said with a laugh. She admitted, however, that constantly working with solder had given her blood a heightened level of lead.
“Nothing will stop me, though, until I
finish what I started.” Aleksandra’s determination, Mary Cantone said, impressed her when they met in 2009. “I knew right away she had much to offer. That’s why we’re exhibiting her personal work in our gallery.”
The church’s windows were
originally created by a Cape May artist around 1906. Aleksandra considers their repair the craft component of her skills. Her art is what she creates herself. “But it is not just for me,” she said. “When I started as an artist, I wanted people to know my name. Now I want them to focus on the art. Through it, I express love. That alone is important. Love gives us a belief in ourselves. With that belief, the impossible can happen.” Her art, then, has a purpose beyond
art. “I want it to connect people. Ten years from now I intend to be work- ing in many settings—synagogues, mosques—wherever I can help people become what they need to be. The best that they can be.” Such goals don’t seem too lofty for someone who has spent months atop a twenty-foot ladder. Standing now on a balcony above the first floor, she said her work at New Jerusalem had made her feel reborn. As if in a shouted response, inscribed at the bottom of a nearby window was the word
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