Following subdued black and white (re)views of the Big Apple a few days ago, here are fragments of the same surreality, polychromatic this time, clichés impacted into one another by hues of modern design and the very sour stigma of time.
This is 2013 and the eyes of anybody looking towards Lower Manhattan from the four cardinal points of nearby shores collide or flirt – it’s open to interpretation – with the now supreme silhouette of a tall phoenix. Born from its own ashes, 1 WTC nears completion and has overruled the city’s entire touristic court, a king claiming the throne left empty by greed, hatred, conspiracy and the very worse of human traits, ignorance and intolerance. And much suffering by the ones who always do. The innocents.
So there I was, having wheeled myself through underground darkness and below water to New Jersey, looking back at that beast of a city, using my camera as a shield, pushing off demons and calling all angels. I opted for a boat ride back, eager to remain in the light as I circumnavigated the ivory tower back to the warmth of a place called home.