Notes on the Visible

UN-adjacent

And some areas near the UN building, which for a while have seemed a bit shabby. Even a long section of FDR Drive’s 42nd Street offramp (not pictured) has non-functioning streetlights, leaving the crumbling road in peculiar darkness given its location. It’s noticeably—and, in some seasons, preferably—cooler over here by the river, relative to the artificially warmer weather of Manhattan’s interior. One day I’ll remember this and reflect on it as something from this point on the timeline, which made things feel a certain way, and which gradually yielded to another era.

UN Studies

I see this building from 1948 almost everyday, due to where I live in Manhattan. And I can’t help but think about the UN’s obvious relevancy to that time, the principles it stood for after the end of the war, and how they feel distant now despite having my personal support. The building itself, such literal a monolith of mid-century design, out there on its own on the banks of the East River, fenced off from the rest of the city, says I’m still here, but very much of a certain time.

These 35mm photos are studies for an artwork I’ll make this summer; I think the building’s simple recognizability will make the perfect subject.

Midtown canyons

A few frames from my nearly daily walk across Manhattan to my studio or elsewhere, camera sometimes in hand. This time of year, light seems to do its thing best 10º–35º above the horizon. Golden hour happens at the upper floors; it’s doesn’t really reach down into the Midtown canyons. And honestly, depending on the day, sometimes it is annoying to stop and take pictures.

Introducing “Notes on the Visible”

In my work—for example in my Woven Portraits, Winter Solstice Pinhole Photographs, and Attempts at resolution series—months and, often, years pass between initial steps and final results. During these stretches of time I execute heaps of pre-planned work and dialed-in, meticulous process. And the results’ perspectives often speak in formal tones, from a third-person perspective.

Naturally, I enjoy working in this way and plan to continue doing so; the dialed-in, meticulous process and the advance planning-out of research, photoshoots, materials handling, logistics, etc—that’s all very me, and I’ll likely never change. However, I feel my practice has been a bit unbalanced in some ways, as I am also pulled towards making more spontaneous, informal, and open-ended images that perhaps speak from a first-person position.

So here it is, a new project: Notes on the Visible. Here I’m going to post photographs (strongly leaning analogue) and probably also some sketches that provide ballast (at least for me) to the other side. I think it will exist as more of a score than a catalogue, and it should not be overly explained. Please follow along (here as well as on Instagram), sit back, and listen.

Belated studies

Last month, around New York, on yet another expired roll of 35mm film. I dropped off this film at the lab in Brooklyn, with time to spare, but, one week later missed the pickup time buy minutes, as my train from Manhattan was racked with delays. As my schedule these days allows only a weekly trip to Brooklyn, this put me behind considerably. Daylight Savings Time has come into effect since then, we have “sprung forward.” Since these photos were taken, springlike temperatures even crept into a couple days a couple weeks ago, and, though I’m certainly not one to shy away from cold-weather photography, I can understand the photographic draw of places like the American southwest, with its mild temperatures and ample sunlight, and the romance of its vast spaces.

1st Avenue

More camera tests along 1st Avenue, near the UN headquarters, pre-snowstorm. New York’s architectural salad bowl has its moments of Mid-Century purity; the real deal shows decades of wear to be sure, but always ages better than its derivatives.

Snowstorm

Earlier this month—around my birthday, always the coldest time of year—I tested the new Leica with a roll black and white film that expired seven years ago, and nature gave me a subject that never fails to pique interest: a snowstorm. Going for a short walk in the snow, I took some photos steps from my building in Turtle Bay, Manhattan.

When I was a kid, these storms happened; they canceled school, buried parked cars, and spurred the digging of trenches. But these days, here in New York, the storms are infrequent, occurring maybe once or twice every few years. At least, that’s how it seems to someone who grew up near Lake Michigan.

I like that one must accept what nature wills. If a blizzard comes, there’s nothing to be done about it. The city, for a day or two, quiets down and softens its edges. The pace slows and expectations of prompt productivity lower. We North Americans hold ourselves to those expectations all the way to the end.