Naparima Bowl Trinidad
A Quiet Moment Inside Naparima Bowl
Naparima Bowl has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Growing up, it was one of those places that always felt larger than life. Whether it was seated in the audience, taking in a performance, or standing backstage with a mix of nerves and excitement, each experience left a lasting impression.
Over the years, I’ve experienced this iconic space in almost every way possible, as a patron, as a performer, and later on, as a staff member. Each role added a different layer of meaning to the building, and together they’ve shaped the fond connection I still feel today.
One of my earliest memories here was stepping onto the stage as a secondary school student, performing in a rendition of HMS Pinafore by Gilbert and Sullivan with the Presentation College Mixed Choir. That moment, being under the lights, hearing the audience settle, feeling the stage beneath my feet, it left a lasting impression on me. These types of experiences stay with you long after the curtain closes.
Recently, I found myself back at the Bowl, but this time for something far simpler and quieter, routine maintenance. I had my camera with me, and as I watched the workers going about their tasks, checking fixtures, adjusting equipment, tending to the small but essential details that keep this place alive. I felt a familiar sense of appreciation. There’s a different kind of beauty in seeing a stage stripped down. No costumes, no props, no audience. Just the bones of the building, honest and unembellished.
A bare stage has a certain charm to it. It’s almost like seeing a performer out of character, still compelling, still full of potential, but in a more personal, unpolished way. For someone like me, who’s always been fascinated by the technical side of things, it was a reminder of how much unseen work goes into creating the magic we admire from the seats.
I’ve always been drawn to figuring out how things work: the lighting rigs, the sound systems, the mechanics that make a scene come alive. So watching these workers and capturing them through my lens felt natural. It wasn’t a planned shoot or a grand moment. It was just something I felt like sharing: a quiet appreciation for a place that has given me so many memories, and for the people who keep it running behind the scenes.
Sometimes the simplest moments tell the strongest stories. And for me, this one was a small but meaningful return to a space that shaped my creativity, my curiosity, and my love for the craft, both on the stage and behind it.
