On a road (Eastchester road) that has more than three churches, Eastchester Church of God, a place of worship located in the Bronx, still manages to be packed on Sunday morning. People from different communities in the Bronx go there to fellowship with each other in an atmosphere of love. They sing and listen to sermons given by the pastor or another member of the church.I chose this community of Christians because I wanted to explore the way they relate to each other and why its members chose this church to show their devotion to God.
Although I recently started going to this church and could be considered as an insider, the church is still new to me. I don’t know everyone and I am a little apprehensive about invading their lives. The pastor has been very welcoming and has permitted me to capture his community.
I think it would be interesting for people who are not familiar with the church environment to see how Eastchester church of God members worship and praise. I hope to show the church, not just on Sunday when everyone is dressed up, but during the week in bible study, prayer meeting and youth fellowship. I wish to provide as much of an unbiased glimpse as I can into this community.
For the past year I have been penetrating the wonderful world of acting. The further I go the more I learn what one-of-a-kind place it is. Actors are artists, artists with specific believes, dreams, goals, values, understanding of the world, hopes, and even sense of humor. As different as they are they are all united by some invisible force that drives them forward, that defeats set backs, that overlooks rejections and very low income prospects.
And absolutely nothing brings people together as much and as closely as being part of a cast of a show or a play. They are brought together for hours at a time, day after day, week after week, sometimes month after month and even year after year. They are forced to reexamine themselves, to reexamine each other, to reevaluate their principles and values together. They are forced to open themselves up to their fellow actors, become vulnerable. They are forced to build new relationships, strong relationships, real relationships between each other. They become part of a new and separate from all others world. It affects not only their characters, but the actors themselves and all of this stays with them long after the show is over, often throughout their whole life.
I want to explore this world for one of the shows that is in rehearsals right now. It is a musical called “The Life” and it will premier in the beginning of December, which gives me an opportunity to follow this group throughout the process till the grand finale. As an acting student and a friend of many of the actors in the cast of the show I believe I have the ticket for this ride. But because I am not in the shows it will let me concentrate on them individually and as a group without being affected by my role in the play and will let me see the big picture.
I already have the permission of the Director of the show and an OK from some of the actors in the show that I had a chance to talk to. I hope to create a window into the world of theater as well as learn from this experience.
There is something unique about the sound of a skateboard rolling down the pavement. Every time my dog hears it, he runs to the window and starts barking; he barks at anything on wheels. Skaters, whether they are on a skateboard or on roller-blades, are a nontraditional community all of their own. They all seem to have a lay back attitude, just taking it one day at a time, they all have a similar sense of style, which I call the punk look, and most important of all they all come together because of an interest, gliding on wheels as I call it.
I have started going around the spots where I have seen some of them and started to ask questions such as, would I be able to find you guys even though the weather is getting cold out, and where else can I find you guys? While I was asking my many questions, I found out that the cops are picking on skaters and giving them tickets for just doing what they love. Union Square on 14th street, one of the many places where you would see skaters, now has a “No Skateboarding” sign. It was a weird site going there and seeing people sitting on their skateboards being watched by the police instead of working on their tricks and putting on a show for the by-passers.
Now it is up to me to find other spots where skaters come together to do their thing and then give you a tiny glimpse of their world. I need to start fast before the bad weather comes and it starts snowing; if not, I will end up with nothing, nothing to show and an “F” in the class.
Sports fans exist in every country around the world, and, depending on their sport of choice, are seen in waves throughout the year. With the football season into gear and the Super Bowl approaching, more and more football fans will be spotted in the streets of New York, wearing their favorite player or team jersey, heading to a variety of sports bars that broadcast the game of the day.
From what I’ve heard over the years, many people, mostly men, crowd the bars on Sunday afternoons to have a few drinks, some snacks, and cheer on their team with a group of friends. Out of habit, many will return to the same place week after week, thus forming bonds and relationships with the other fans who flock to the giant screens and alcoholic beverages.
It is those people that I want to capture, that community of loyal and dedicated fans that I want to expose through pictures and words. By going to bars known for their high attendance on sports events, I hope to observe the fans, talk to them, and take their pictures.
I am hoping that the former two will help me to understand the passion and the dedication of those fans, as well as establish the rivalries and rituals that are involved in the games. I also expect to find multiple generations, sometimes father and son groups, who have been coming to the same places for months, if not years.
After getting some good pictures and information from sports bars around the city, I will try to go to an actual game, though perhaps not actually enter the stadium. But arriving before a sporting event and walking around the parking lot is sure to provide me with many images of tailgate parties, people who have camped out, barbecues, and, I assume, fans dressed or painted in the colors of their team. This will fit in nicely with the other part of my project, the bars, and I think my subjects will be more than happy to talk about their traditions and teams.
A family takes a stroll while all businesses bearing Jewish names are closed.
An older boy confidently walks forward while the girl tries to attract his attention with something she’s saying.
One of the many families spending the time together
Aren, 13, and Zaly, 14; cousins
“We eat and sleep”
Three young boys take a stroll on a Saturday afternoon, unsupervised.
THe only bright spot I saw the whole day
Saturday.
Few white clouds grace the blue sky and bright yellow sun caresses the cheeks. But the air no longer has the careless warmth of summer. Winter begins to fight for what righteously will be hers in acouple of months and my fingertips can already feel the icy touch.
I get off the subway in the middle of a new untouchable world. My camera is ready, I see a great subject and bring the viewer to my eye. All I see is darkness. I start laughing inside thinking that I forgot to remove the lens cap, again. I bring my camera down and I see a big round hat floating in front of me and blocking the view. The man says something I don’t understand, but his face and tone don’t need translation. I quickly turn and head in a different direction.
That was refreshing. I definitely need to change my tactic. I no longer point my camera where it doesn’t belong. I am using the maximum zoom. I make no eye contact with my subject right before or after I take a photograph. I find myself extremely interested in architecture of the neighborhood, pretending that I am taking photographs of the streets and building, rather than people.
As I proceed I see parents cover their children’s faces, I see families cross the streets, I notice the curious, yet unsure look on the faces of children playing alone: they are curious about a newcomer with a camera, but they don’t know if they are allowed to approach or if they should go away.
As I walk the streets I see a couple of teenagers having a discussion in the middle of the street. I gather myself and point my camera at them. I see one of them notice me, I am almost ready to put the camera down when I see a smile appear on his face and a hand rise in a wave instead of a block. They approach, they pose for me, they are curious. I am afraid to invade their world too much, but it is them that won’t let me go. My friendly informers, I call them. Aren, 13, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and Zaly, 14, brunette with hazel eyes, tell me they are cousins. They both grew-up here and like it very much except for the garbage. “It is not so clean” Aren tells me. They both go to school and are fond of sports. Aren is on his school’s baseball team and Zaly is on the basketball team.
They tell me that Saturday is bad day for me to come shoot their neighborhood – the streets are empty. (As I look around I can only imagine what this neighborhood looks like when streets are not empty.) They tell me that on Saturday they are not allowed to make phone calls, to drive, to smoke, to light a fire, though they are allowed to take from an already existing fire, and are not allowed to turn on the lights. Well, Aren tells me that progress took care of the last part – they just put timers on the night before and lights turn on automatically.
They point out a Sukkah to me. It is a sort of a summer house, a construction outside of one’s home (or on the balcony as I noticed later) that they put up during the holiday of Sukkot. What do you do inside, I ask. We eat and sleep, tells me Aren. He also tells me where I can find some of the best, wealthiest and most decorated sukkah’s in the neighborhood. I later realize that he meant the inside, a place where I am definitely not welcome.
A woman appears at the door across the street and says something to my new friends. Aren quickly explains that his mom made dessert and he has to go, but her face and tone do not spell dessert to me. Both boys quickly go back to their houses without saying good bye.
And I am back to being an unwelcome outsider. I hear happy voices, laughter and joyous singing coming from inside the houses and sukkah’s, but I don’t see any of that in the faces I meet along the way.
As my little invasion into this world comes to an end, I leave with a sense of awe and respect, and a little fear.
I got the idea for this community because I spend a great deal of time commuting. I’m also a fan of the performing and visual arts, so for years I found myself stopping to absorb and enjoy the virtually free entertainment provided by the various artists that descend the depths each day to make a living from their craft.
As I stand on-looking and finger-tapping, droves of my fellow straphangers buzz by indifferently, completely absorbed in their own minds. I wonder whether they can even hear my creative comrades — or if the sounds of the Spanish guitar, koto, pail drums, steel pans, or whatever other medium of sound — are muted out with the rest of the city din.
Recently, I noticed that many of these artists, who I had previously thought to be a heterogeneous group of traveling performers, are now donning a conformed banner, signifying an organization of some type, a community.
Thus, I went out to capture this underground community. Given the crowdedness of the NYC subways, it was difficult to snap these shots without a commuter ruining each one, so I went out on a quiet Sunday morning. These were my favorite shots…
Photo 1: Workspace
I came across this fellow strumming and plucking away at his Spanish guitar strings at the 59th street E train station. I was at first a bit nervous so I tried to snap a few quick shots without being noticed. Of course I inevitably was, but the guitarist smiled and nodded yes when I asked if I could take a few photos. I stood there for quite some time, waiting for a clear shot with no intruders. As I waited, another man approached our guitarist and spoke to him in Spanish. The man asked if he was from South America, and he said yes and that he was from Chile. They talked and laughed for a few minutes after that, then the man walked on.
I called this photo “Workspace” as sort of a play on words. For one, this was indeed the guitarist’s workspace, though one might not think of a subway platform as such. I also wanted to highlight the empty space this photo captures, mirroring the solitude this sort of profession affords.
Photo 2: Tools of the Trade
This gentleman was parked in the 42nd street underpass which connects the ACE trains to all the others. I called this one “Tools of the Trade” because I loved his improvised drums that create a beat all their own.
Photo 3: All in Day’s Work
I loved this photo. It captured the sweat on the breaker’s face and the money bucket. He truly works hard for the money. He also wanted to be photographed, so this was one of my easier to attain shots.
Photo 4: Direct Deposit
This was my favorite image. I had been trying to capture reflection photos for quite a while, only to be foiled by the glare of the flash. Here, I snapped a quick shot of the money bucket, and was not only able to capture the bright colors and signs of life in the otherwise dark and dreary subway, but was able to finally get a clear picture of reflection.
Photo 6: Brand Management
I spotted Professor Alvarez at the 42nd street station near the 123 trains. He was hunched over and smiling into his lap. His head nodded along with the dancing dolls before him. He had the familiar banner I had been seeing so much lately, and that inspired me to explore the underlying organization of the subway artist.
It is a blustery day, the wind whips at me, lashes out at me, pushes me as if to say ‘get out, you don’t belong here.’ The clouds hover ominously over the ocean. Gray and forbidding. Just like the people. Gray and forbidding. I want to leave, to turn back and run away and return on a different day. But instead I remain where I am. I take out my camera and begin to shoot.
It feels awkward at first; people don’t want an amateur photographer following them, taking their picture, invading their privacy. Or so I think. But I am wrong. Some smile their acquiescence, others shrug indifference. Many are willing to pose. And what of the rest? Well, they’ll never know. And so I begin to freeze individual moments in time.
A veteran’s vision The old man sits alone on the bench, seemingly lost in thought. I approach hesitantly; it doesn’t seem right to invade his privacy. The man is lonely, he wants to converse. He tells me that he is a 94 year old veteran who is now blind and partially deaf. He says that I may take any photo of him that I wish, and asks how he should pose. When I am finished he asks disappointed, “That’s it? No more pictures?” I assure him we’ll make a model of him yet.
The Walker’s ClubI passed this elderly group of women on the boardwalk and snuck a shot of them. I couldn’t help but wonder what brought these women together? Was it merely their infirmity? Or perhaps they were lifelong friends who had grown old together? I was reminded of an old Jewish saying by the celebrated Rabbi Akiva: “Don’t walk in front of me I may not follow, don’t want behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend.”
Army of One This woman walked right past me, but the look on her face made me stop. It was a look of determination. Her lips were pulled tightly together, her eyes set firmly ahead. Her very existence seemed to be a struggle. She appeared to be fighting the world. Her walk held in it a certain resolve as though she was saying, I made it this far, and I’ll continue going.
Uninvited Guest- I snuck my head in an open restaurant doorway, and quickly took a picture of diners in the midst of their meal. How thrilling it was- to just steal a moment.
The Present of the Past- There is something very nostalgic about this image. The boardwalk which spans from Brighton Beach to Coney Island is a relic of the past. In sepia, the image seems to be lifted out of a history book. It’s almost as though nothing has changed from a century ago.
Laura Gadson poses with her quilt bearing Sept. 11, 2001 motif.
Laura Gadson – The Faces of Black Beauty
Ruth Miller poses with one of her embroidered tapestries.
Eli Kince – Man Loves Jazz
The traditional community I attempted to capture was Harlem. Walking down 125th St., I saw such vibrancy, such color. I saw black people showing off their culture in a community that they knew embraced them, accepted them, respected them, and even protected them. I knew I must capture this community, and share it.
After cruising the streets, surreptitiously snapping photos, feeling like an outsider and experiencing paranoia, I almost gave up on capturing Harlem. And then, this weekend past, I had a breakthrough. Harlem artists opened their doors for the Harlem Open Artist Studio Tour and the related Strivers Art Circuit Tour. I was welcomed into the homes and galleries of some of Harlem’s finest artists, for food, for wine, for conversation, and for photos.
This photo collection is a sample of the images I captured.
First image: This image captures an Upper East Side toddler and his nanny. It is not rare that children in the wealthier communities are raised by their nannies. In this image you see a high-end modern stroller and a modestly dressed African American baby sitter. Even though it is just a babe, you can see the disparity of class between him and the nanny. The reason I captured this image “Out of site out of mind” is because while waiting for the light, the babysitter is lost in thoughts. Perhaps while taking care of this darling Upper East Sider she thinks of her own children and whether they are being taken care of while she is taking the baby of the affluent for a walk.
Second image: A darling Junior, born into the Upper East Side family is coming back from an expensive, private school. What I love about this image is that he is so young, yet he belongs to this upper class of people. The woman who happens to be captured in the background of this image is amazed by this lifestyle as she is looking around and is walking with astonishment. Meanwhile the junior and his mother walk confidently with a sense of belonging home.
Third image: This image portrays some of the luxuries that come along with living on the Upper East Side. Most of us take trains some try to catch taxies, however living on the Upper East Side doormen do most of the work for you to make your life as comfortable as possible. On this image a doorman found a taxi for a woman, unloaded her bags into the trunk and pampered her in every way he could in return for a couple of dollar tip. Many who belong to the community of the Upper East Side even have their own drivers waiting outside their homes. If you look on the left hand side there is an outsider observing with envy and vicariously living the life of the affluent.
Fourth image: The juxtaposition of a street vendor and a Bergdorf Goodman department store makes this image intriguing. What makes it even more unique is that a business man, who we would typically expect to find in a high end department store, was distracted from his upper class life by a street vendor. Just like some of us would venture to walk in to Berdorf Goodman to catch a glimpse of the Upper class life, he ventures in the opposite direction as he is looking through $5 silk pahminas who anyone can afford.
Fifth image: 5th Avenue has some of the most upscale stores in the world. This image captures a Louis Vuitton Store and a guy who just came out of it. He is dressed like those who live on the Upper East Side and he is holding a Louis Vuitton bag, which costs more than many of us make in a month. Moreover his attire alone costs more than some low middle class families make in a year. What strikes me the most is the red velvet and the red shirt he is wearing. The red velvet rope usually means that this is a VIP area reserved for some and restricted for average persons. Perhaps the attire he is wearing and the color of his shirt subconsciously signifies the same thing.
Last image: Upper East side is a perfect location to step out of your house and walk around in the Central Park getting away from all the hastles of the city. After a relaxing walk, one who lives there can cross the street and be back in the city that never sleeps.
Chinatown continues to be an epicenter for a variety of Asian and American cultural aspects. Much of the neighborhood’s physical changes undergone over the past decade reflect how the community has been able to accommodate new business and development while still retaining its historical heritage.
These photographs were taken close to Chinatown’s main street of Canal, which is always bustling with cars, people, noise and seafood. Vendors are most prominent in these areas as there is always a high volume of people, particularly tourists, on the streets.
I decided to document Chinatown because I felt that, in the process of exploring the mainstreet area, I would find emerging cultural patterns from the people and the neighborhood . Chinatown’s success seems to result from being able to preserve its cultural traditions and diversity over the past 100 years with moderate change, which contrasts greatly to Little Italy’s slow but continuous recession into the nearby Asian neighborhood.
Field Notes:
Photo One: I picked this man randomly out of the hundreds if not thousands of other vendors attmepting to make a living by canal street. I was intriqued more with the wandering expression in his face than what he was actually selling.
Photo Two: The colors and loudness of this building seemed to frame the Starbucks on its street level. There was a simultaneous co-existence of traditional and contemporary voices when I looked at it.
Photo Three: The color contrast of the Apple billboard to the rustic building is almost comical given the sheer size of the advertisement.
Photo Four: Walking by this Chase bank, I observed how both languages were very similar in proportion but differed greatly by the structure of their vocabulary.
Photo Five: The streets at this intersection were quite narrow when I took this picture. I also don’t think there there were any traffic lights. I thought that this sign post reflected an intriguing confluence of language and physical symmetry when I passed by.
Photo Six: I was done taking pictures for the day and was looking to grab a bit to eat when I noticed this food vendor. In addition to seeing the usual suspects on his ad hoc menu, I noticed he was also selling fried chicken gizzards on a charming wooden stick.
Entrance of Little Guyana: jewelry stores, salons, restaurants, delis are interchangeable West Indian, Guyanese and Indian products and services. A main difference between Jackson Heights and Richmond Hill is the cuisine and population. Guyanese food is less spicier than its counterpart and enjoys a less claustrophobic lifestyle. Otherwise, they both have a train track above their heads.
Near Forest Park which borders Richmond Hill on the north, Victorian houses embellish the neighborhood with history and architectural glamour. Shimmering in blue-green amongst the surrounding foliage, the circulating porch is a key feature of Victorian design.
Khalid, 19, Trinidadian and sophomore at BMCC. A few blocks away from Little Guyana on Liberty Ave towards the edge of Richmond Hill, radiates a stronger Hispanic presence. With all the hues and tones of the neighborhood store fronts riding on the sights and smells, Richmond Hill is as multifaceted as its colors and people. “I was born and raised here and I see nothing hostile about the neighborhood, people are friendly, no tension beween the Guyanese and Indians. The train and traffic is what keeps you up at night.”
Ramo, Guyanese, 38, owner of the Ramo Jewelry Store for one year and owner of a previous store also on Liberty Ave for a decade has his finger down on the neighborhood. He shares half of his store with a hair salon. “Most of my customers are Guyanese and Trinidadian, the Indians hardly come to my store,” Ramo said with emphatic i’s and r’s. “Indians don’t go to Guyanese jewelry stores because we don’t have the designs they like and karat count,” with his arms crossed and raised brows,” and they’re cheap too, they don’t pay ticket price for Guyanese merchandise, not even from their own. But otherwise this neighborhood is pretty safe despite the tension.” Business is part bargaining, part culture.
Kumar, 45, Indian, Owner of Liberty Curtains for the past seven years. Kumar owns a second Liberty Curtains on Hillside Ave. “Richmond Hill is to the Guyanese as Jackson Heights is to the Indians, if they don’t recognize each other; at least they have their own neighborhoods.” Joseph, 50, Amerigroup Health Insurance Agent married to a Guyanese woman from Richmond Hill. “I was born to live here, everyone’s peaceful in Little Guyana,” Joseph said Richmond Hill. Joseph is multicuralism personificed; he lived in Abu Dhabi for 25 years and was born in India to Chinese parents; fluent in Hindi, Arabic, English, and Cantonese.
Back in 1990 to 96′, my uncle and father owned the most productive supermarket in Richmond Hill on 118th street and Liberty Ave. My brothers and I would run throught the packed aisles of West Indian products, much like the cars weaving and swerving on congested Liberty Ave under the A train. I only knew Liberty Ave, or “Little Guyana” for the predominant presence of Guyanese and Trinidadian people.
One day a Guyanese and Indian cashier exchanged hostile accents in my father’s store. And I didn’t know why some Indians didn’t recognize Guyanese people of having Indian descent. So I asked a few locals around Richmond Hill to tell me their stories about the ongoing tension, if there is, between Guyanese and Indians.
After that I went to the historic section of Richmond Hill which was an Italian neighborhood in the 1900’s to 1960’s. Along 86th ave, there is a handful of Victorian Houses which survived the years and are being supported by local legislatures to preserve and officiate them as New York City Landmarks.
The day was overcast, sunlight peeked in and out of the clouds. Sort of chilly. I felt like a tourist taking these pictures. It felt strange. People stared at me, with questioning looks. What is she doing? They must have asked themselves. I tried to take each photo without letting the subjects know I was taking their photograph. Some knew though. I asked permission for some shots taken but others I pointed the camera and prayed I caught something interesting. Some people were welcoming and did not have a problem with being photograph by a stranger. Only one person asked “Are you going to put my picture on the Internet?” My answer was no then yes, when I remembered the website. He laughed then went on his way. I did not include his photo here. Overall it was an awkward, somewhat frighteningly weird experience. Maybe I felt this way because I went alone.
Jackson Heights is a part of Queens that in the 30’s and 40’s was a predominantly Jewish, European neighborhood. It is now a community mainly consisting of people of Hispanic origin with an additional increase of an Asian and Eastern European population.
1. People selling books and other small items in the streets in “Little India” is not an uncommon thing.
2-3. A homeless woman named Milly takes a nap in front of a watch store while people pass her by.
4-5. “Centro Cristiano Adonai”, an Hispanic pentecostal church passes pamphlets out while playing and dancing to Christian music.
6. Roosevelt Avenue under the 7-line’s train tracks
Tried to take a picture of the man’s face but he gave me a stern look to suggest disgust. Was headed either to or from the synagogue. Stark difference between him and the background but through it all he still blends in and maintains his individuality.
Behind Closed Doors
Wasn’t allowed to take any close up. Boy just turned 13 and had his bar mitzvah. He is now a man and allowed to wear the black band to bring him closer to God. Radiates from the curtain.
droW s’doG
No black band, boy is younger than 13. Reading his prayer from the bible. Not rocking back and forth. Allowed me to get closer to take his picture.
Kiss and Tell
About to leave the synagogue. Kissing the mezuzah. Look of devotion in his eyes and overall posture. Arch of the door parallels the arch of his garb.
Sleep Perchance to Dream
Rocking back and forth during prayer. Very melodious movement, sleep-like. Silent prayer. Like his placement between the corner of the wall. Fits him.
Watch Your Word
Fully concentrated in book. Didn’t notice me. Presumably headed toward synagogue. Walked quickly past. Stark contrast in colors between him and his background.
Detailed Note
The synagogue looked forboding and desolate. I was the only female in the room but bystanders would not have noticed me behind the wall. “Stay behind the wall,” he said to me. How can I take good pictures under such conditions? I thought. I had so many pictures in mind to take but here this would be impossible. I just have to do the best I can under such circumstances. There was only one time I felt more like an outsider than at this moment and it was when a Russian person looked disappointed when they realized I was Jewish. My father stood beside me the whole time (he is my backbone and muse in life). Without him the situation would have been so much more stressful. Taking the picture of the boy who just turned 13 was the most difficult. I tried many times just from behind the wall but it was near impossible. I strayed from the original contract, then. I cheated. When no one’s eyes were on me I crossed the wall and came close to a curtain. Click. There it is; the picture that is a testament of will, determination, and brute rebellion. I became so conscious of the wall that it became an entity that leeched energy from me. Picture after picture to no avail. I was dribbling into myself, the camera shaking from my uneasy disposition. I felt like Tantalus except instead of water that lay before me until I stretched out my lips it was the perfect moment to capture. The perfect picture was right before my eyes but I could not come closer to entangle it with camera technology. No sooner had I come close to the wall I heard “behind the wall.” I could not risk bringing more attention to myself so behind the wall I stood, clicking away in despair and disappointment. There was so much potential that couldn’t convert into a kinetic force because of my genetic limitations. At least I can offer a glimpse into the world. A challange may not always bear fruits but it always bears worth.
Union Square in the middle of a weekday is such an interesting sight… all around the square are shops and nice restaurants filled with business people taking a quick break, but inside the park are dozens of homeless people who all seem to know each other. They sleep, they sit, they eat on the benches and on the paths, and seem comfortable with their surroundings.
I have to say that going there with my camera, I at times felt scared and had to walk away pretty quickly at times. The smells were sometimes questionable, to say the least, and I oftentimes had to pretend that I was taking pictures of something behind my subjects. I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb, and was glad to have brought someone with me.
Additional Field Notes –
Photo 1 – This picture took me a few minutes to execute, because I felt as though I was really invading the subjects’ privacy. Standing in front of them with my fairly large camera, I felt that they knew what I was up to, and so I tried to act as natural as one can do so in this context. I really liked the suitcases because I feel that they capture the nomadic nature of the subjects, as well as their ability to settle anywhere at any given moment.
Photo 2 – The two boys, who were that day out for one of the Jewish holidays, were obviously from a completely different world than the two other men, yet they were all talking animatedly together. I really felt that the scene captured the essence of New York City, where people from all different backgrounds and of various occupations can mingle with relative ease.
Photo 3 – There was something about this lone smoke that made me want to take his picture, perhaps because I felt that he illustrated the so many other smokers of the area. After taking the picture, I really liked how it turned out and chose to include it.
Photo 4 – In the midst of the bustling city, inside this small park, this scene felt oddly personal to me. I don’t know who the subjects are nor what the topic of their discussion was, but they looked to me as two old friends would after not seeing each other for a while. I left the picture in color because it felt so alive to me that putting it in Black and White would have taken away from it.
Photo 5 – I first saw this lady from the street, from behind, and her installment looks all the more intriguing from that point of view. The pictures I saw when I came around were of various places in the city, though none were particularly striking. What I tried to capture in the picture was the fact that no one stopped to look at her work; everyone passed her by, stuck in a moment.
The streets of Main Street, Flushing on an unseasonably warm Fall day, these are the faces of a neighborhood.
The morning paper handed to you as you rush through the crowds on your way down the escalators into the iron rooster that is the number 7 train.
Andy, the realtor – Has been in Flushing since coming from China in 1989. “First it was the Koreans, then came the Chinese and now we have the Indians and Pakistani, I have seen all the changes that have come to settle on Main Street”
Tang, the seeker – Sits down waiting for the “Luck Doctor” to prescribe what year will be lucky for her daughter to marry her boyfriend. “You give him the month and year of your birth and the rest is up to the “doctor” and his pencil to tell you what year will be lucky for you – to love, to marry and get money.”
He swirls amid the crowds pushing into your hands a flyer for a cell phone company right down in the heart of Main Street. He utters not a sound and his determined and calm gaze is all that lingers.
The shy Muslim girl outside of Kabul Kabab Restaurant did not want her picture taken but in an instant click click and it was done.
Yang, the vendor – Came to New York from China six years ago. Sells newspapers, caps, phone cards and lotto tickets from his small vending square. He speaks little English but was more than eager to have his picture taken. He smiled at me as I asked permission and then retreated into his space.
Haries, the student – I saw him walking down Main Street and Maple dressed in a kurta and knew I had to take his picture; he reminded me of my trip to India. It turned out he is from from Lahore, Pakistan and is a 32 year old Queens College student studying to be a lawyer. On the side he has a construction business in NJ in which he flips houses for a profit.
I arrived New York following a one year backpacking trip through South and Central America. During my first months in the Big Apple I used to visit Spanish Harlem often, re-experiencing the tastes that I missed. When this assignment was given and I was thinking about this neighborhood that I loved, I realized how quickly the New York pace has taken over me. Its been over 4 years since I’ve made my way uptown, and I found the scenery somewhat different but the soul is still the same.
Field Notes:
Sunday Mass Aftermath: Just arriving the neighborhood I noticed a group of people stepping up from the basement. Peeking inside I found this simple church with few people still there chatting. I had a chance to take a couple of photos before I was asked, not very kindly, to leave. After this unpleasant experienceI decided to take a different tactic and to make sure people are comfortable with me and my camera.
Pasando el Dia: This group of men didn’t seem to have any particular reason in lining along the sidewalk. That is how I found them, and even as we were chatting andI asked to take the picture no one bothered to change his position. I was wondering whether man sitting was a matter of hierarchy but was afraid that such a question would not go down well with my broken Spanish.
Day Game at Shea: As a Mets fan I found it easy to approach Etol. He was standing outside a residential building, with a much elderly friend sitting on the stairs next to him. He was listening to the baseball game that took place not to far in Queens. The Mets had the lead, so that explains his joy (of course they ended up loosing the game though).
Holding Court: I found a group of men hanging out on the street, just outside a small neighborhood park. No one was in the park itself. The man photographed was the only one sitting. I asked if I could take a picture of his watch that had the Puerto Rican flag embodied in it, and that was the result.
Manuel was just about to enter the building when I stopped him and asked where did he get his hat from. He said he bought it in Puerto Rico and that I can probably find something similar around the neighborhood. I asked to take a picture of his cap. His expression in the photo surprised me, it seemed like the camera exposed something about him that I missed.
People like to dress up. How each person responds to her attire, however, is harder to generalize. The children in this essay all wear some kind of accessory that reminds one of the mainstream stereotypes of the Middle Ages. A paper crown, a sword, a vest. The Festival was in fact a long paved way with hundreds of stands at each side, one next to the other. At these tents things were sold: phosphorescent puppets, velvety dresses, real blades, turkey legs, canned pickles, palm readings. It was about selling; the Middle Ages were just the label under which all kinds of products were being pushed. The organizers’ imagination was limited to having the salespeople dress up like fairy tale characters, scattering a number of singers who chanted church-like tunes, and inviting a group of school children to dance to Celtic songs on an improvised court.
The main consumers, of course, were children. Unlike adults, every child at Tyron’s Park Medieval Festival carried something that signaled that they belonged in there. Snow-White was extremely popular, surpassed only by warriors who, if they lacked a shield or a helmet, held a plastic sword on their belts. But after wearing the costume, there comes a period of time in which people make decisions about how they will relate to the new weights they carry on their hips, or about the long dress that becomes entangled with the feet. This period, however, is uneven in length. Some kids behave as if carrying wings on their backs was just as carrying their backpack. To others, their attire is an invitation to play—to incarnate the soldier they wanted to look like. And yet other children, after exploring the new identity they assumed through their costume, take longer to return to their known behavior.
These pictures focus on children who exhibit these and other behaviors that are harder to figure out at once. Some titles are quotations from overheard conversations amongst the crowd.
As a resident of Jackson Heights, I am no more than a ten minute drive away from Flushing, Queens. Since childhood, Flushing has been my destination of choice for a variety of activities, including violin school and prep classes. As the years progressed, I found myself lodged in this community at least once every two days. However, like the people in my photographs, I usually rushed through the streets. This assignment allowed me a chance to stop and capture the Flushing that has slipped by in the past.
1: slam. two beeps. whoosh, hiss and a scrape from behind. rolling water between indistinct murmuring. shoes on a staircase and children running back and forth behind. bags of food litter tables and used tissues roll on the floor.
2: an 8pm sunrise. rubber on pavement, headlights darting. scurrying back and forth. bricks, metal, glass stand silently. the sunlight changes. red. green. blue. yellow. repeat.
3: “yi ge ji rou.” chicken sizzling, smell of red pepper in wafting smoke from red and gray coals. aluminum foil crackling. crowd gnawing in back. tree leaves hang, hot and dry in unrelenting smoke. illuminated by queens crossing.
4: zipper of cars. tires screech to halt. angry horns and a slow-changing light. pedestrians overflow from sidewalk. a push and shove from behind. hurried heels clack onto the pavement of the road. angry yells.
5: a siren. “back away! back away!.” a herd of people. worry. fear. anger. utter curiosity. footsteps rushing to the police car barricade. two cops in front of doorway. pairs of eyes stare. watch. BANG! a metal baseball bat strikes the windows. again. again. one man yelling, screaming and frustrated. more sirens, more cops to disperse the crowd. an outsider yells “shoot him.”
