The New York Chronicles

To Marie,

New York is like a deep dive, dangerous, intense, shifted, addictive. She feels dark and opaque as I drop down, temporarily alone and immobile, on my way towards deeper illusive goals and strange chimeras. Blood starts rushing to my head and I fight off heat narcosis in a frantic struggle to remain in control. She requires ultimate commitment, lots of training, a solid dose of faith, and self-assurance pushed past arrogance. And every night, when retiring to the boat-like comfort of a home, to a cold drink and a loving presence, I force New York to let go of her steel grip and realize with a sigh while decompressing, I survived another one.

Yet with patience and curiosity, after slowing down and shining my camera around, looking carefully and following your lead, gems are revealed – green oasis and eerie sights and symbiotic relationships that keep the city alive. She abounds with life and turns out to be ever-changing, moody and incredibly complex. Like innumerable generations of coral polyps building upon a calciferous skeleton, people construct their world in all directions and the city grows inwards and out, feeding on itself in a frenzy of hurried expansion, a beautiful and ferocious urban orgy. The spectacle is hypnotizing.

The trick, as with any deep dive, is to know when to stop. There is a point of no return and it seems to lie just beyond the halo of my understanding of today. I’ll keep diving into the city, deeper and deeper, until I feel like I safely belong at depth, while never losing sight of the surface and watching my bubbles lead up – as always – towards the sun and fresh air and you.

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