I’ve mentioned that I had (still have) an Olympus OM-4; I bought it used from a Daily Cardinal friend and once in hand, just started taking pictures.
I’ve been more cautious with the XT-4, and for no good reason. I got the camera because I thought my life had become too small, and I wanted something that had nothing to do with work or politics. I took up ceramics in grad school, and got to the point of “not half-bad”, but the problem with throwing pots is that. . . you end up with a lot of pots. Since I already had some experience with photography (including developing and printing film), I went with that, instead.
Photography also has the advantage of getting me off my ass and out of my apartment—and, importantly, to pay attention to my surroundings. (I still walk and look around, but that’s mostly at night and, honestly, mostly for exercise.) There’s so much to see in this city, and I spend a lot of time not seeing it.
Relatedly, I’ve gotten in the habit of, at least once a week, getting oot and aboot in the city (the shots above and below were from today’s jaunt in downtown Brooklyn and DUMBO). I don’t often take my camera—during the semester I’m getting off the train on my way back from the Bronx, and my backpack is heavy enough without the camera—but I am trying, again, to pay attention.
For example, I was recently in the Met (which is pay-what-you-wish for NYC residents) and zipping through a section on European painting on my way to the American wing when I caught a portrait and thought, Huh, is that, uh, whatshisname? I kept going, then realized that that was, indeed, Rembrandt. I was surrounded by Rembrandts.
For Chrissakes, I snipped at myself, You can’t just zip by Rembrandt.
So I stopped, and turned around, and slowly worked my way around the room. I tend toward 20th century works, but, man, Rembrandt and Vermeer really do it for me. I don’t really have the words and really don’t have the knowledge of art or art history, but I do know when something stands me still. (Oddly, I’ll say that such works ‘move me’, but really, they stop me.) The light, and the shadows. . . I can almost hear these portraits breathe.
I did eventually end up in the American section, only to hurry through it; another time.
One more thing: all of this is a means of trying both to see and see beneath this city, to claim it as mine. I’ve been here coming up on 18 years, and while I’ve spent time in every borough—even Staten Island!—and know a fair amount about the skin of the place, I’ve barely dipped into the blood and the bones.
You gotta hustle to survive this joint; while I haven’t perfected the hustle, I am surviving. That’s not nothing, but, as ever, there must be something more.
AbsurdBeats 