October 16, 2009


Remember: Click on photos to enlarge.

I aim my camera into the tangled textures, set the exposure and squeeze the trigger. Nature imitates Jackson Pollock....or vice-versa.


Today I was on the A train and sitting across from me was a teenage Hispanic girl with red puffy eyes. She would reach up and lightly brush away each tear before it traveled half way down her cheek. She glanced from side to side to see if anyone was looking at her. I put on my sunglasses so I could watch without her knowing. If there was a vacant seat next to her, I would have sat down, offered her a Kleenex and asked if she was okay, hoping she would open up to a stranger and tell me why she was crying. I was so curious. I see someone crying on the street about once every two weeks. So far, they have all been women, with the exception of one drag queen on Christopher street.
Last year I experienced the deepest sadness of my life. It was a horrible time for me. One day I suddenly and unexpectedly started crying while walking down the street and I quickly ducked behind the pillar of a building. I was very self conscious and wondered for a millisecond if anyone who may have seen me was curious why a middle aged man was there alone, in a corner, sobbing into his hands. Had someone asked me, I would have gladly told them why, hoping that doing so would have alleviated some of the horrific pain I was feeling.
As I watched her I couldn't stop wondering what brought on such sadness. Did a relative die? Was she given horrific news regarding some medical procedure? Or, was it something as trivial (comparatively) as some high school boy breaking up with her, or some evil girl telling her she was too fat. Perhaps she was fired from Baskin Robbins. I guess sadness is all relative. I couldn't stop watching her, I was just so curious. At 125th street she stepped off the train and walked off into the crowd. Every time I see someone crying I wonder the exact same things.

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