He was most often passed out on the stairs leading up to an obsolete building, oblivious to the world passing by at his feet. It seemed to me that he was so desperate to escape his own reality that he’d lost all awareness of himself, didn’t care how the world walking by looked upon him. (more…)
I first saw George in front of my apartment, on a sunny and clear fall afternoon. This was some months before I embarked on my project- I had not started conducting interviews or even formulated a clear plan yet- and even then I was drawn to him; to his beatific face and hard-working hands. He was pushing a fully loaded shopping cart down Lexington Avenue and smiling. So I asked him if he’d mind if I took some photos. (more…)
About once a week I’d find myself walking down Park Avenue towards 23rd Street, underneath temporary scaffolding erected to protect pedestrians from the construction work being done to the towering building above. I’d mosey along past a novel tableau; a weathered folding chair, well-used and waiting empty, feeling very much like something personal, like someone’s living room with a view onto the happenings of that particular corner. (more…)
I’d seen him in the neighborhood for months, on my walk across town to work in the mornings. He’d usually be asleep; covered by threadbare but clean-looking blankets, his head protected by the arching curve of a round trash can he’d claimed as his own. He’s sleep with his head and torso in that trash can, surrounded like a squirrel by a nest of his worldly belongings, his feet poking out from under the blankets like they were too hot to be contained and needed air. (more…)
