I don’t know. The question: why do I take these pictures? What is it for….I have trouble articulating why I do these things. The closest I can come to answering would be to say that it blows my mind, so many little unwritten stories, unseen and therefore invisible to most. Sometimes I find that these brief stories are analogous to a little window, like something out of a Madeleine L’Engle story….a magical aperture that allows a glimpse into a detail. A detail, a small occurrence, a bump on the road….or a face imbedded in a sea of many. This little window can illuminate a brief sequence of events that may be relatively insignificant but profoundly meaningful at the same time….if only to the one experiencing it. How many stories are out there…captivating and tragic and beautiful and absorbing, as each of our lives is. My intense, daily experiences are my own….and remain with me until I die. When that happens, they’ll die with me.
So why not tell a little story? A little big story of somebody else’s life, just a few pictures and words.
I found out that Rene was something of a regular visitor to the McDonald’s on Canal Street, stopping in to read his paper and drink coffee. I went back, and spoke to a guy who knew Rene when I showed my pictures….and he said he hadn’t seen him since the holidays, come to think of it. Robin said that he normally sees Rene in the subway at night as well….So whatever happened that day was more significant than I realized at the time.
Rene struggled to stay upright and balanced. My last picture of Rene.