Bedford Stuyvesant

Bed-Stuy, the 'hood that became home for the month. I seem to remember things back to front -- that last day, a heat wave was just setting itself upon the city. It was grey around the edges and that sticky, inescapable kind of heat that really makes you sweat. One last 40 minute pilgrimage to Manhattan for one last breakfast at Buvette then back 'home' to clear the room, pack our bags, scour the house for scattered belongings, and say goodbye. Goodbye to that new home with it's new smells that had quickly became old and familiar.  A reluctant & purposefully quick goodbye with my beautiful new friend who had become family as we invaded her home. A storm set in as I called a taxi and took off alone, shutting the door behind me and trying not to acknowledge the sadness I could feel in the corner of my eyes as I remembered back to the beginning, that very first day in this unfamiliar hood I was now calling home. 

Boardwalk

My posting here has become so infrequent I am sure that my only readers are myself and apparently people who are Googling 'abbey lee kershaw 2012' & 'janet jackson pics by ruven'.  Hello. 

I have recently returned home, as all travellers eventually do, from five weeks of summertime bliss in New York City.

I will write more about why I think it was such a damned good holiday soon but for now I just couldn't wait to share these two photos. I got my scans back yesterday and was in a frenzy of delight reliving the moments I had captured. So many were riddled with flaws - somewhere along the way my camera starting leaking light, my focus on moving objects is usually off, the light meter was broken etc - but they were just all so honest. 

If it weren't 1am, and I wasn't getting up for a flight in 4 hours, I probably wouldn't post these two photos together. They tell my heart two very different stories each which deserve their own space. 

That first man with his arms out, wide and unapologetic, he stood there for a good few minutes...just like that, standing there head flung back, greedily taking in all that he possibly could from the ocean, from the breeze, the horizon, the open space, the sun and all it's majesty. I admired how bold he was and considered joining him. He was both giving and receiving everything of the day all at once. How does that even make sense? I do not know but in that moment I couldn't help but smile as I admired this perfect picture of freedom. 

This second man, the one in the wheelchair, I didn't consider so much at the time. I was walking up the boardwalk as the sun was setting looking for interesting characters to photograph. From what I remember I just saw this scene, quickly snapped off a frame and kept on walking.

I guess that was why this photo hits me so hard when I got it back. What kind of mission was I on that I didn't stop to properly consider the person who had been before me?  

There is some kind of metaphor playing out with the birds which I don't think I need to put into words but I do know this is another story of freedom. Perhaps the desire or longing for freedom? I cringe to think that sounds presumptuous as to what that man feels, all I know is what I feel. 

Will be back at a more reasonable and less analytical hour, soon!

x

it's almost

 “Each day, with a renewed sense of wonder and curiosity, I would sling the camera over my shoulder and set out to explore a new neighbourhood, chase the the shimmering, golden light reflecting off skyscrapers and observe the comings and goings of beautiful strangers.”

Elize has a magical ability to shoot through a subject or scene and extract the soul of it - to so generously share with you, me, us. I look at her photos of New York and am beautifully reminded of the community spirit that can live in a city, in a season. 

I feel spent of all energy as I wake this humid & dull Monday. I worked through the weekend, hidden from the pleasurable tease of summer whilst everyone basked and boasted with their talk and pictures of sea and sand! So I'm gonna add a ittle light to my morning and browse some more of her wonderful photographs. You should really join me. 

Photos: New York by Elize Strydom

wandering

My memories of this night in New York are so beautifully chaotic it makes my heart race. I was exhausted from playing Mum (to 3 gorgeous but consuming children) in Manhattan for days prior, but was way too hungry for this city to simply go to sleep at night. I walked hard and fast from the East to the West and didn't for a second feel the chill that was building up (it snowed less than 24 hours later) around me. I sat on those red steps in Time Square confused and in awe of the way the lights and the traffic and the people made me feel. I was alive but disconnected. Excited but drained. Hungry but...oh wait, no buts there, I was definitely hungry. SHAKE SHACK. I sat up at a bench, just me and my fur and freshly purchased Jo Malone and stared into space as I ate my burger and replayed the scene of me lingering at the fragrance counter in Barneys talking top notes and dewy florals as the well suited man tied thick black ribbons around the pretty cream boxes so precisely.

*Sigh*

I love how life feels like a movie in New York city. It heightens reality - the good and the bad - and always leaves you wanting more.
It's not over yet...

Photos: Rachel Kara

Monday morning

We met at about 930am on a Monday morning which was too early, like 5 hours too early if you're operating on New York time, to see the "long lines of Sigerson Morrison addicts, mustachioed artistes" & Nolita fashpack strut the sidewalks of Mott Street...but don't you worry, I saw the appeal of this highly recommended French-Moroccan inspired cafe none the less.
I don't think I'll ever be able to think of this place and not feel the corners of my mouth curl up as I replay the scene of me not-so-elegantly dabbing excess lemon juice from my avocado on 7 grain toast to a napkin between each bite, and stifling my giggles so not to attract the attention of the rather snooty waitresses (sorry - I know they're probably just bitter that they have a day job and have to wear rather shapeless muck green skirts...much like myself as I angrily muddle limes Fri-Sun). Oh and Hannahs too big for the plate toast (baguette)...that also made us laugh.

Cafe Gitane 242 Mott Street (between Houston & Prince), New York.

Photos: Rachel Kara

go on

I'm about to loose my shiatsu at the way that either Photoshop, Photobucket or Blogspot is messing with my nice warm contrasty images and swapping them with flat, green toned blobs of mess.

Without any further ado I will continue with the documentation of my whirlwind few NYC days, and then maybe even revisit the spectacular afternoon I spent photographing Whistler/Blackcombe peaks, I can't have walked home crying in pain because of my hypothermic toes for nothing, right?

Wait one more further ado...
ETA: I have just been given a geography lesson and learnt that Brooklyn isn't another 'suburb' as I believed it was in my head, it's actually a burrow or something like that and Williamsburg is simply within that. Perhaps when I say we went from W'burg to Brooklyn I mean Bushwick? Ugh. I don't even know but yes I feel like a dick and thought rather than retracing my words and trying to make sense I would just like to preface any geographical reference in my writings with a big clueless note to make you aware that I am aware of my shortcomings

Have I mentioned how much I loved being over the bridge away from Manhattan that Sunday? To the greater world I feel like Williamsburg & Brooklyn had either been embraced, or perhaps more so written off, as a hispsters playground (probably much like Surry Hills or Darlinghurst would be in Sydney to a lesser extent - and come on where do we all find ourselves drawn to when it's time to meet for a coffee, a drink, a stroll, a quick vintage scour?) but found all that really means is that a newer established or transformed area (thanks urban sprawl) can leave the 'cool' room to breathe and space to be discovered rather than shoved down our beady & ever hungry throats and eyes. I loved the wider streets, the slower pace at which I walked, the lack of high rise, the smaller stores. I lost that sickening feeling of over consumption that had washed over me as I walked into the department-store-sized stand alone stores of Broadway earlier that morning.

The flowers on the corners are my favourite. I would like to strike off the record that I asked if the leaves are bred to be all shades of deep purple, aqua, blue etc. Erm no Rachel, I'm pretty sure they're dyed. Right, yeah, obviously.

If it hadn't been for the few too many people in Catbird creating some bump and grind space issues I'm sure I would have spent half my day undoing each and everyone of the cabinets, taking pictures and writing my wish list. Literally though, a few people in the teeny tiny gem packed store is all it takes to make or break your viewing pleasure, but that's what I loved. Speaking of love, if my love ever happens to want to buy me a special ring I am directing him here. I did buy myself a little something which makes me happy every time I look down and see it's delicate silver, arrow self looped around my finger. I'll show you someday.
From here some time was spent browsing a store where the perfect Acne jeans are the same price as back home so put back on the shelf (sad face) and a certain casual, cotton, free spirited, Isabel Marant peasant blouse made me want to pack up and transform my whole life wardrobe. The day was just so lovely that I didn't even mind when we windled time away in a vintage mecca looking for the perfect raglan tee and came out empty handed. Don't you sometimes get genuinly upset & angsty when what you are looking for is so simple but just not presenting itself to you?

My apetite was raging a little by now so we hopped on the Subway with Hannah promising me brownstones and bagels in her part of Brooklyn before the Superbowl kicked off. The bagel place was shut which is why, when & how the above classic pizza joint presented itself as the perfect pre dinner, post shopping snack. Let me tell you, my bagel craving sadness passed pretty quickly.

I have written too much so I will not spend time closing this nicely and narratively. Until next time......


x



Photos: Rachel Kara