It's been in the 50's this week in New York. It's amazing to think that only a week or two ago storms were shutting down airports up and down the eastern seaboard. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to enjoy the weather as much as I might like; I've been slightly under the weather. I blame the Armory show.

This past weekend, I met up with a friend and we walked from SoHo halfway up to Pier 94. It was almost too nice to be indoors, and we both welcomed the walk. The show itself was overwhelming, and after an hour or two, we were both exhausted. There was too much to see, and venues proved somewhat stuffy. We left after seeing a small portion of the exhibits and then made our way down the west side, walking under the shadow of the Intrepid before hailing a cab to take us downtown. I bid my friend adieu at Houston street and had a slice of pizza before heading home to recuperate. Instead, I woke up with a cold.

I've been spending a lot of my weekends in Chelsea, recently. This past weekend I visited the Mathew Marks Gallery for the excellent exhibit of Robert Adams photos, and ducked in to see the four sculptures that make up the David Smith exhibit at the Gagosian.

For a long time I had the intention of visiting galleries in Chelsea, but never did. I'm not sure what kept me from going; it's not far from my house, even if I had to walk a few blocks west from the train station. These days it seems like nothing.

I took this photo a few weeks ago, after seeing a survey of minimalist works by artists from California. There, I was again enchanted by the work of James Terrell, one of my favorite artists. I'd love one day to be able to visit the Roden Crater.

And wah! I just saw on Terrell's wikipedia page that last year a museum of his works opened in Salta, Argentina. Why wasn't it open in 2007 when I was there?!

Winter lingers. Walking home, last night felt like one of the coldest thus far this season, what with the wind lashing the freezing rain against my face. Fortunately today is not so bad. Otherwise, I might never leave the apartment.

I took this a month or so ago, walking home along Broome street. I forget where I was coming from; given where I was it was most likely Chinatown (which seemed to be the theme of the last post). I saw this woman walking towards me and the man about to cross the street and pulled out the camera to make this exposure. At first I wished the crop were closer, but after trying it to see, I realized I like the sense of space and environment around the figures.

Happy Lunar New Year!

This week has been a series of celebrations and dinners in Chinatown. I think I've had dinner in Chinatown four nights thus far. Last night I joined friends at a Sichuan hot pot place on Canal, just by the bridge. A few nights ago I found myself at Congee Village. The night before that it was a solo run at Dim Sum Go Go, and the night before that was Shanghai Cafe.

On New Year's day I walked through Chinatown just after the main celebrations, squeezing my way through the crowd. I took a few photos, but I fear that they won't turn out so well. I'll probably have them developed next week.

The photo above was taken on January 1st this year. I was, coincidentally, en route to Chinatown to have noodles at Bo Ky, my favorite noodle restaurant in the area (where I almost always order the fish cake flat noodle soup with a portion of vegetables laid over the noodles). It's delicious, and I find myself craving it more often than not on those long slow weekend afternoons.

New Year's Eve, I walked home from SoHo House. It was after midnight, and I had walked by the river. Turning east, and back towards the city, I passed few people on the west side. A slight rain had been falling steadily, but it wasn't enough for me to open an umbrella.

Crossing the west village, a balloon flew near the ground and I leapt to grab it by it's string. The cold air must have kept it from floating further, and I walked home with it trailing in my wake.

Nearing my house, I saw a man approach on the street with a bunch of balloons in his hands. I fumbled for my camera, clinging tightly to my own balloon, quickly took a reading, and snapped this photo. I had been taking photos of balloons all evening in celebration. I took some of the balloons that had floated to the ceilings of SoHo House. The next day I would take more, of balloons caught in lamp-posts, through the trees.

On New Year's Day, I found myself in Times Square. Confetti still sifted through the street.

We had come from Queens, where we had dined on Thai food. We had decided to try to see Avatar and made our way into the city. The show was sold out, as it would be for weeks to come. We bought tickets for Sherlock Holmes and walked around the area, waiting for the show to start. We ducked into a hotel lobby and then into the attached restaurant. We sat at the counter and drank coffee.

On Broadway, we looked up at the point of focus the night before. The ball had been removed. The numbers spelling out the year were still lit.

A few weeks ago I went to MoMA to see the Orozco exhibit. I was unfamiliar with the artist, but was intrigued by the sculpture that had been installed in the atrium. It was fascinating to see, suspended in the air above everyone. In New York, one couldn't help but think also of the whale installed at the Museum of Natural History.

Last night I watched Roy Andersson's You, the Living (I review it here). Like the films of Tsai Ming Liang, Andersson's film treats with the isolation and loneliness of the human condition with pathos and humor. In one scene, a man plays the tuba. His wife yells at him, but he can't or won't hear her. In the apartment below, an older man pounds on his ceiling, trying to get the man to stop. Across the street, another man watches the action; his wife bades him to come to bed. The characters' stories are all interconnected, but they're not connecting.

Something about seeing an office space from a distance seems to tell a similar story, each person isolated in their cubicle, surrounded by people, all caught in their own stories.

I shot this while at a food and design event sponsored by the NYTimes. It was a delicious evening, and I made my way slowly through the Architects and Designers building, sampling everything I could. I can't wait to attend the next one.

A few months ago, my friends Simone and David invited me to their son's bris. I had never attended one before, and was thankful for the opportunity. It meant a trip to Long Island, and so I headed to Penn Station, and the LIRR.

I'm not often in the train station there (I have a history of confusing Penn Station with Port Authority). Even more rare is the opportunity to go to head out onto the island. I can count on one hand the times I've been there, and I still remember each trip: the first time I was on a New York beach, the time I went out to go kayaking.

I usually enjoy train stations (and airports) but I am less enthusiastic about Penn Station. The fact that the entire building has been sunk underground obviously contributes to that fact. A few years ago, I saw the Bollywood film Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, and was surprised to see New Haven's Union Station featured in some key scenes. I had never realized how beautiful it was. The next time I passed through, I took some time to look around. Paused on my journey, I finally had the chance to appreciated it.

Lately the afternoons have been bright. The sun streams down through the buildings and the clear air seems to filter nothing. The light is almost too bright, but it throws everything into sharp relief. I've been taking some on my way to lunch, standing on Broadway while waiting for friends to converege.

Although a friend has disparaged the area, I enjoyed working in Midtown west. It's not a place I go often (ICP notwithstanding) and it was fun exploring the streets south of Times Square. Bakeries have been opening up in the area, and in addition to the Crumbs that has appeared on Broadway, there is a maccaroon shop hidden away on 36th street between Broadway and Seventh Avenue. Called MacarOn, it doesn't seem to fit in with the rest of the surroundings, and I was pleasantly surprised when my friend introduced me to its charms.

In the fall of 2008, I visited my cousin and his family in Hiroshima, Japan. I stayed for about a week, and in that time we went both to Miyajima and to Takahashi. It was the first time I had been in a private automobile in Japan, and it was interesting to drive along the highways. It was a part of Japan I hadn't yet seen. Later in the same trip, I went to visit the I.M. Pei-designed Miho Museum, outside of Kyoto, and spent some time on a bus. Otherwise, I travelled primarily by train. I love the JR pass.

Takahashi was a pleasant town, with a canal running through the middle of the historic area. While waiting for my cousin and his family to finish browsing a certain store, I spied this woman reading by the water. It was a slow afternoon. I knelt and took this picture.

A friend of mine was included in an exhibition of photographs at the State Theater in New York. The various photographers' work was keyed to opera productions for the new season. To celebrate, they held an opening, to which I was invited.

The theater had been recently renovated (and renamed), and a rehearsal was just letting out when I arrived. The lobby was decorated with costumes that hung from the ceiling, held in place with elaborate frames. The photographs were aligned along the walls on each floor. My friend was not in attendance; she was abroad working on another show. I ran into her husband and children and toured the photographs with them.

I was almost out of film and hadn't put any spare rolls in my bag. I had a few exposures and quickly ran out. This was one of them.

It's been cold in New York and I've been under the weather, though the days have been clear.

I shot this a few months ago after a visit to the Met. I had gone to see the Robert Frank exhibit. I had never seen a complete set of prints from The Americans, and it was a revelation to be able to peek at the contact sheets included with the show. I had known the show was coming for a while; I almost made a trip to Washington, D.C. to see the show when it was at the National Galleries. Recently, I purchased the new Steidel edition of the book, which is a beautifully produced volume.

Years ago, my roommate at the time was invited to a wedding. We were younger then, and inexperienced at gift-giving. He wondered what he should give the newly-wed couple. He bought them a copy of The Americans.

I'm not sure why, but this seemed appropriate as a first post for this new year: looking into the future, taking a photograph. I actually shot this on Halloween, hence the woman's outfit. This evening's photos won't be developed for a few days.

I spent most of the evening at home, working on a last minute job for a friend. I had had a late lunch with a friend, and once I got home I thought I wouldn't leave. Then at 10:45 I had an itch to leave the apartment. I put on my coat and started walking. A friend had invited me to a party in the Meatpacking district and I soon found myself at the front door. I gave my name and went in. A man dressed in a 20s outfit sat in a chair with shoeshine paraphenalia spread around him. I asked if he was actually shining shoes. No, a woman told me. He's paid to just sit and look cute.

The house was packed. "Groove is in the heart" played over the loudspeakers. I made my way to the bar and waited for a drink. The bartenders were overwhelmed. The song switched to George Michael's "Freedom 90" and a woman next to me told me to look around. All the women were singing along.

The woman on the opposite side of me asked me what I was drinking. I told her all I wanted was a glass of champagne. We joined forces to flag down a bartender. She bought a bottle and poured me a glass. We clinked glasses and wished each other a happy new year. I thanked her for the champagne and then made room at the bar for her companion. I wound my way through the room looking for my friend. Auld lang syne began to play, and then someone started a countdown. Soon the room was filled with voices raised in unison. The new year arrived and people made noise and toasted each other, their glasses raised. Balloons clung to the ceiling, as if keeping it aloft.

I couldn't find my friend in the crowd. I finished my champagne and picked up my coat, wishing people a happy new year as I went. Outside, a light rain continued. Cabs poured through the streets as revelers huddled under awnings, smoking cigarettes. I walked west, towards the river, until I reached the pedestrian promenade. It was quiet along the banks. Party boats plied the waters, travelling clockwise around the island. I passed a woman walking north, and then a pair of couples racing each other on piggyback. Their cries cut through the silence.

At pier 16, I walked out over the water until I reached the end to search for the Statue of Liberty; it could not be found. I watched the lights on the opposite shore reflected in the water and the lights from the boats that made their way silently past me reflected in the water and then I turned to walk back towards Manhattan. A gate had been drawn across the entrance to the park. I jumped it and crossed the West Side Highway back to the city.

A wayward balloon floated across my path and I jumped to grab its string before it could float away. At home, I let it drift until it touched the ceiling. I lifted the cover off my turntable and put a record on. Michael Jackson welcomed me into the new year.

"Looking out across the night-time
The city winks a sleepless eye . . . "

Happy New Year everyone. All the best in 2010.

010110.

I don't remember taking the former photo, but I remember this. Spring had arrived and I had yet to make more than a few exposures. The afternoon was warm and I took the Minolta out into the backyard. I remember lying on the ground under this tree. I remember spending some time visualizing what I wanted the image to look like. I still didn't know much about the camera or how to use it, and I found the focus confusing. I can't tell if the effects on the photo are due to the expired film or the fact that I was shooting straight up into the brightly lit sky.

Thinking back on the back yard, a lot of the trees have since been cut down or have been blown down by various storms that have passed through. I was always hesitant to cut down any tree, and protested any that my father wanted to bring down. I think I would rather have had a forest in our back yard. It would have cut down on the amount of lawn we'd have to mow as well.

Now, I can't remember the last time I mowed a lawn. Growing up I had no concept of city living. It amazes me what little I realized then of how I might be living now. I don't think I even knew my current profession existed.