I caught the last day of the Garry Winogrand retrospective at the Met. Cars appear often, however, as in the photograph above. More interesting, to me, are those taken from behind the wheel--or seeming to have been done so.
This shot feels as if it's taken through the driver's-side or passenger-side window (rolled down) from a car pulled over momentarily at the driveway's end.
A bit later, we have a full-on "roadie," sun streaks on the windshield and all. Winogrand shoots and steers as a creature of some sort crosses the road.
Los Angeles (1980-83)
The perspective in this L.A. photograph from the early 80s is more puzzling. Is the photographer rushing into the street to capture the horrific image of a woman lying by the curb? Or is he passing by, like the Porsche in front?
You are looking (into the sun) at the BQE onramp at 37th Ave. between Jackson Heights and Woodside. Until recently it was officially a cars-only zone. So many people crossed over the BQE on this side of the overpass that the DOT designated it a crosswalk.
Some kind of work is going on the BQE West under the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. It necessitates a lane closure at precisely the point the highway goes from three lanes to two at the Cadman Plaza exit. In other words, it's down to one. There's an announcement on one of those overhead signs a mile or so earlier but it doesn't say which lane is closed (right or left).
The first day I got stuck in it, I was in the far left lane--my usual protocol. By the time I got close enough to see the DOT truck with the flashing arrow pointing right, there was nothing I could do. I merged right at the last possible moment. (Thanks, brother.)
The next time, knowing it was the left lane that would be closed, I did the right thing. I got into the right lane much earlier. And I inched forward behind a sixteen wheeler while car after car passed me on the left.
The next next time, knowing what I knew, what did I do? Reader, I believe the photos speak for themselves.
Summer nights are a good time to head up to the roof. The air is moving, and the light too. Moving away from us. Like summer.
Certainties—truth, beauty, and belief— go in and out of focus. Mostly out. Occasional flickers sheet a sky turned dull, lit up by little else than recollection. Life is lived both according to the memory of the flash and in the dimness of the aftermath. The tide goes out; comes in. The light fades low again. The raw wound of the crater fills with green. But ah, the afterglow. And oh, the undertow. "The Afterglow," Rachel Hadas
into our flesh our
deaths, crossing the street, plum, quince
living in the orchard and being
hungry, and plucking
As subway posters become more and more standardized and corporate--an entire train's worth of American Express U.S. Open ads--it becomes harder and harder to find any inspiration there. Yet somebody did with the Jet Blue poster on the 82nd St. platform.