GRAND RAPIDS -- I almost didn't write this.

Sometimes it's hard to know when to turn the reporter side off.

But when you're standing in front of a piece of art about fate, you don't turn a cold shoulder to a fortuitous moment.

The fact that I was there for the few minutes Josh and Kathy will remember for the rest of their lives was, as I quickly decided, fate telling me I was the "lucky" one chosen to be their witness.

So here is Josh and Kathy's story. And fatefully for me, a little bit mine, too.

At 9:20 p.m. Wednesday, I was driving on Fulton Street to go see Top 10 artist Beili Liu's "Lure/Wave" before final voting for ArtPrize ended at midnight. I hadn't yet viewed the piece up close from the new UICA's windows, even though I had driven past countless times. I wanted to experience it at night, without the crowds, in peace.

As the stoplight turned red outside the venue at Fulton street and South Division avenue, I became discouraged. It looked like there were photographers running around the piece taking last-minute pictures before Thursday's big announcement.

"Greeaaat," I thought. "Maybe I should come back at 11."

As if the photographers weren't enough of a sign from the cosmos telling me I had horrible timing, a tow truck was hoisting a newly crumpled bright red Grand Am from the Intersection.

Late-night traffic accident congestion and flashing orange and white lights really set the mood to take in some art.

But maybe the grit of the busy intersection would be a good foil to Liu's tranquil, seemingly dormant piece, which was originally meant for movement caused by people walking by it.

"OK," I thought, "I'll take some time with it despite."

I parked by St. Cecilia Music Society and walked past the crash site. Plastic crunching noises as traffic rolled over shards of broken fender and headlight provided the backdrop as a handful of people peered inside the windows at Liu's suspended red disks, threads and sewing needles.

The two apparent photographers still were messing around with digital camcorders, tripods and cameras while adjusting flashes.

I tried to ignore them as I watched for the slightest movements of the red disks, which symbolize people eventually finding their soulmate despite life's obstacles.

I moved to the north windows to get another angle. I seemed to be by myself finally.

One of the photographers came outside the venue with his camera. The other disappeared. I was ready to walk back to my car when the one inside reappeared with a young, blindfolded woman.

He lead the woman slowly around the corner of the installation until they both were surrounded by little red soul mates.

He undid the blindfold. She opened her eyes.

He took out a red string and tied it to her. She stood there. I wish I could have heard how he tied it all together for her.

Then came his bent knee. Then the ring. Then the embrace.

"Did he just propose to her?" asked a passerby incredulously with what looked like his girlfriend.

Yes he did.

"Well played, sir!" he yelled.

The three of us clapped and cheered. The newly engaged couple turned and grinned.

Josh, who has been filming video of entries for ArtPrize, told me afterward that he had done everything in his power to keep his proposal a secret. And he chose a late time so that his proposal wouldn't influence ArtPrize's final vote.

I guess sometimes fate has other plans, though I made sure this wasn't posted until after voting closed at 11:59 p.m.

Did it influence my vote? Josh might be glad to know it didn't.

But it did something better than dictate who will receive $250,000 Thursday night.

As I thought back on how he wouldn't let Kathy's finger go as he carefully touched the ring he just placed on her finger, it proved to me that art has crossed the threshold into meaning in this community, and someone did spontaneously what he had been planning on doing six months from now because of art.

It's these non-scripted late-night ArtPrize moments -- where art interprets life and life responds -- that bring this event beyond the art itself, the big prize and even the conversations.

E-mail Rachael Recker: rrecker@grpress.com

