NYCOMG | The Day All Those Images Went Gone
Day One of Hugh and Claudia Brownstone’s Streets of NYC workshop. Hugh promised us between eight and ten miles of walking a day, so make sure to have good shoes and socks. I invested in two pairs of Oboz walking boots and broke them in for several weeks prior to our arrival. I’m not much of a walker. Once around the block with the crazies every night is about it. Off we went that Sunday afternoon, west, I think, though it could just as easily have been east, but no, the sun sets to the west, so west it was. We eventually wound up at the 9/11 memorial. I learned the first day that with my style of stopping every half block or more, I’d be separated from the group and hopelessly lost much of the time. Mark, a previous workshop attendee, took charge of our lost tribe of two and was leading us towards a bridge crossing that turned out to be opposite from where we were meant to go, but no matter. We course corrected and caught up with the rest. I remember capturing a lot of stellar images that day. As time goes by, I recall even more of those images, but they’re gone. I’m generally very careful, but somehow I did all my grading and processing on the card itself rather than transferring to my computer. Everything vanished into thin air, except for the tail end of the day. The woman on the bridge, gone. The memorial, gone. Sam, the motorcycle guy, who was buying his cousin a pink Principessa birthday cake, gone. The couple on the bench by the Hudson, gone. All those people in the towers.
Connie Francis haunts me as I go through what’s left of my first day photos. “If it takes forever, I will wait for you.” We walk, we wait, we catch up. We wind our way through this section of Manhattan. Across the Hudson, New Jersey. Sunset skyline. Some go this way, some go that. Sophia, who’s studying law and is attending the workshop with her dad Daniel and step-mom Gail, shears off to walk back to her place nearby. Daniel and Gail split off, as do Hugh and Claudia. Marty might be lost, so it’s me, Dean, Math, Bob, Scott, and Mark. Or did Marty find us? I think he did, but I’m not sure. He and I always seemed to get lost from the group. I spot a restaurant on our left, and our subset eventually all gathers for dinner. From there, Mark guides us through Little Italy and Chinatown. Canoli! Proud as I am of not having eaten a single sweet since March, canoli is a required part of the curriculum. I get the chocolate one. Just one. So good, oh, so good. Before this trip is over, there will be ice cream delicacies, and cake. A proper send-off for the #31 molar, slated for removal the week we return.
Mark arranges a group of skateboarders for us to shoot. I go to ground, as I often do. New York to me is a collection of sets and scenes, Lego-like with its towers and characters. Walk it, or take the train, or an Uber. Pop up somewhere, get chased through the park, keep your wits and watch your six. Don’t get run over. The skateboarders have beers and are clearly under age. Is it a school night? Does anyone go to school or work any more? Not in my New York movie.
