wordherder

Walking: West Village and Chelsea at night

2012-01-24T21:31:00.003-05:00

Chelsea

2012-01-16T09:05:00.001-05:00

Blue in Chelsea

2012-01-12T09:10:00.003-05:00

"So sorry it's a wee bit blurred."

2012-01-01T18:38:00.003-05:00

At a thrift store, I found this photo with a message written on the back: "So sorry it's a wee bit blurred."

I was taken with the portrait and especially the apologetic sentiment, and I started looking through the tray of old photos for other occasions blurrily recorded. They were harder to find than you might think; most people throw out blurry photos because they are "bad." But a lack of focus can be lovely. And in this case, with photos that have parted ways with their original owners for a variety of reasons, some of them sad, the softness of the images evokes a lost moment, one that was fading into the past even as it was happening…

The walk home, Lower East Side to Chelsea

2011-12-29T22:41:00.003-05:00

Saw the new movie Pariah (it's excellent) and decided to walk home from the Sunshine Theater. It was one of the first truly chilly nights so far this winter, but there were still lots of people out, and all the holiday lights were glittering. Washington Square Park beckoned, as it always does.

Photo © Kristina Feliciano.

Lady Bunny at La Escuelita, December 27

2011-12-28T09:14:00.000-05:00

All photos © Kristina Feliciano.

Clearwater Beach

2011-12-27T13:57:00.000-05:00

Helen Frankenthaler, 1928–2011

2011-12-27T13:53:00.002-05:00

Helen Frankenthaler died today. I savor her paintings, their creamy, bleeding colors, the free, mysterious, intuitive way she made them.

From the New York Times obit:

Critics have not unanimously praised Ms. Frankenthaler’s art. Some have seen it as thin in substance, uncontrolled in method, too sweet in color and too “poetic.” But it has been far more apt to garner admirers like the critic Barbara Rose, who wrote in 1972 of Ms. Frankenthaler’s gift for “the freedom, spontaneity, openness and complexity of an image, not exclusively of the studio or the mind, but explicitly and intimately tied to nature and human emotions.”

Here she is in 1957, in a photo I found here.

Ybor City

2011-12-22T22:30:00.000-05:00

Soho, December 17

2011-12-20T11:13:00.000-05:00

Howard Street.

Some friends from Lisa's Christmas wonderland

2011-12-14T17:41:00.000-05:00

3 photos

2011-11-30T15:10:00.001-05:00


The tree in my grandparents' front yard.


Inside the Paris Theatre, waiting for a showing of The Artist to begin.

On Danny's West Village roof, painting a canvas that now hangs above his couch. Photo by Danny.

Orlando

2011-11-18T14:05:00.001-05:00


My grandfather and I have been watching I Love Lucy in the evenings. A local channel shows back-to-back episodes at 7. We found it by chance, just flipping through the channels. My grandfather was delighted. "I haven't seen that show in a long time!"


This photo of Onyx in the bed reminds me of those 1970s colored sand decorations that came in a glass.


The nursing home hosted a special early Thanksgiving dinner yesterday for residents and their families. My grandfather and I brought my grandmother to the main dining room for it. It was a nice event, and a chance for the residents to get out of their daily routine and for families to have time together. But it was heartbreaking too.


My grandfather was seated next to a woman whose husband is a new resident at the home. He has Parkinson's, is in a wheelchair, and is in the first stage of dementia. He's 74. They've been married 51 years, she told us.

My grandmother didn't eat much, which worried us, and was soft focus much of the
time. But she did have a few sharp Claudina moments. At one point, she sipped her iced tea,
put the cup down, and said, "No tiene taste." I laughed for a long time. It reminded me of a
barbecue we had here this past summer, when she bit into a pork rib that my grandfather
had eagerly prepared and announced that the meat was tough. My grandfather sputtered that
the meat was fresh and he'd only just bought it. To which she replied, still holding the rib,
"This pig is older than you."

Domingo in the backyard today. He's not one to talk much about his feelings. But every now and then he says something about sad he is to see Claudina this way. And he prays every day that she will come back home.

Father Demo Square, West Village

2011-11-09T22:07:00.000-05:00

And the view from the apartment that was waiting for me when I got home…

Netflixed: "Crime of Passion"

2011-11-09T10:10:00.001-05:00

Barbara Stanwyck is deliciously devious in this 1957 noir. The film itself is strikingly photographed, and even incidental characters are richly imagined. I couldn't resist taking stills as I watched it on my laptop…

Walking: Williamsburg, Sunday, November 6

2011-11-08T18:39:00.003-05:00

Walking, October 29–31

2011-10-31T22:20:00.000-04:00


DIY MTA signage.


Industrial School of the… ? in Nolita.


Finally went inside the community garden at Houston and 2nd that I've been passing for years.


Construction in Nolita.


Passed this poster in the East Village and…


…found myself at the gallery an hour later. Couldn't bear to look at all the portraits.


Walking in the east 30s, I came upon a screening of Beetlejuice. Delightful.

How a portfolio review led me to Gabriela Herman

2011-10-31T21:17:00.001-04:00

This past February, I was a reviewer at an ASMPNY Portfolio Review at Calumet, and one of the photographers who showed me her work was Gabriela Herman. She'd been doing a series of portraits of bloggers that was starting to get attention (eventually, Wired's Raw File photo blog picked it up). I loved not just her photos but the clarity of her idea. When she emailed me afterward to thank me for the review, she mentioned that she'd looked at my But Back to Me self-portraits project and that she also avidly takes self-portraits.

I remembered Gabi's email this month when I needed a photographer who could offer tips on taking photos of oneself for a Photo Tips and Tricks gallery for my client LIFE.com. (Actually, the original concept was to provide guidance on taking profile pictures for Facebook and the like, but I suggested that a self-portraits tips gallery could be more interesting to illustrate and could still contain useful info for taking good profile pics.) I got in touch with her, we worked together on the text and selects, and the gallery went up today. Thank you, Gabi, and many thanks also to my colleague at LIFE.com, who added some important finishing touches. Click here or on the image below to view "How to Take Creative Self-Portraits."

Walking, October 19–22

2011-10-23T12:29:00.004-04:00

Times Square.

"Good Housekeeping," West Village magazine shop window.

"Pizza," Hell's Kitchen.

"Liquor Store," West 30s.

Excellent tips for street photographers

2011-10-10T16:37:00.001-04:00

Eugene, Oregon–based photographer Blake Andrews has posted 10 tips for those who want to take better street photos. A few of my favorites:

2. Study. Go to your favorite corner and watch for an afternoon without a camera. The next day take your camera.

5. Downsize. How small can you make something in the frame and have it still be the photo's primary visual subject?

9. Habituate. In a public setting, hold camera viewfinder to your eye continuously for thirty minutes. Press shutter when meaningful.

Get the full list here.

Around town

2011-10-10T08:48:00.001-04:00


Outside small claims court, waiting for a friend.

Sheep at the petting area at Prospect Park Zoo.

Creative spelling, Williamsburg.

"Claudina" at La Pura Vida magazine

2011-10-01T08:08:00.000-04:00

Sincere thanks to Bryan Formhals of La Pura Vida magazine for posting my photo essay "Claudina."

Bar Six, Sunday, September 25

2011-09-28T10:03:00.000-04:00

I need a hero

2011-09-26T08:51:00.000-04:00

I'm working with LIFE.com on a series of galleries centering on photo appreciation. Today, my first "What Makes Photos Great?" gallery went up. It's David Schonauer, former editor in chief of American Photo, sharing his insights on his chosen theme—heroism—as seen in eight classic photos from LIFE's archives. Click here or on the image below to view the gallery.

Click image to access gallery.

TWA Terminal Building, JFK; and an overpass

2011-09-23T10:17:00.001-04:00

Netflixed: "Staying Alive"

2011-09-17T12:13:00.001-04:00

Screenshots from Staying Alive, the follow-up to Saturday Night Fever. Released in 1983 and directed by Sylvester Stallone (who actually features a crotch shot of John Travolta in tight pants), with music by his brother, Frank Stallone. The movie is both flaccid and bombastic, but that's partly what makes it entertaining. That and the ridiculous last two lines of dialogue. Having just made a triumphant Broadway debut and exited the theater, Tony Manero is asked by his girlfriend what he wants to do now. His reply? "Strut."

Tony Manero (John Travolta) lives in an SRO in Hell's Kitchen. When I lived there in the early 1990s, I used to go to McHale's, which you can see in this picture and which is now gone.

Indifferent SRO manager. Is there any other kind?

Claudina, September 15

2011-09-15T22:56:00.002-04:00

I've been visiting Claudina in the evenings. She doesn't like to go to bed before 11 these days. Won't stay in the bed. So sometimes I go alone and sit with her for a while, and sometimes I bring the dog. From the parking lot when I arrive, I can see into some of the rooms of residents in the other wards. I see TVs playing colorful shows. It looks like a motel. There was a patient standing by the after-hours entry, on the inside holding on to his walker, gazing outside. There's almost always one resident standing by the exit but not trying to leave when someone from the outside opens the door to enter. They know there's no getting out.

She passes the evening in what the nursing home calls "the lounge," a stark room with tables and chairs, and a TV that plays I Love Lucy DVDs or, at night, a music channel that funnels old songs into the room. There are items on some of the tables to keep the residents occupied. Dominoes, jumbo plastic Lego-like toys, wrinkled magazines. Sometimes there's no music and there may be only the sound of someone mumbling absently or a nurse wearily cajoling. It feels like a nursery. I look around and think about these people's lives before they became ill, about when they were vital, about their families and what they experienced as they realized they would need to bring their loved one here.

A nurse comes around to give Claudina a strawberry yogurt and a strawberry "shake," a thick drink that my grandmother, who's diabetic, needs to have so her blood sugar doesn't drop while she's asleep. She refuses the drink and the yogurt at first. The nurse has to feed her, making each spoonful an inevitability. Claudina complies and accepts each mouthful. But the drink remains untouched.

The institutional setting, the toys, the cheap plastic cup, the stains on the table that sees so much use. I am usually so grateful for the nursing home, as it keeps Claudina safe and takes care of her in a way that none of us could. But tonight I hate that she's here. There's no beauty here. There's only waiting.

Orlando, September 11

2011-09-13T23:23:00.000-04:00

Orlando, September 8

2011-09-12T10:27:00.002-04:00

Claudina, September

2011-09-11T23:18:00.000-04:00

Well, life's going to go at its own pace. And you will find yourself at times thinking that it goes much too fast. And these times will usually be when you've realized something precious that you want to hang on to. And at other times, you will feel that you wish you could leap ahead, so that you could know how a certain thing turns out or that you could have the wisdom that comes with some years so that you could figure out a certain thing.

But either way and no matter what, you will not have a say in how fast things go; you will realize after time that life occurs at a pace that never seems to be quite in line with what you would prefer. And yet you will see, when you are older, that it all happens at the exact right pace.

Knowing this does not mean that anything that is hard will be less hard to cope with. It does not mean that you will feel any less lost as you go through each year. It might mean, though, that if you can accept that it's all okay and that the unfolding of it all is very much beyond you, that you can endure the bumps somewhat more readily.

Claudina is far deeper into her decline than she was even just six weeks ago, when I was here last. I do not think she will be with us by the end of the year. Others here agree. I am heartbroken. But I also do not want her to suffer. I want her to be free of this, to be able to stop working just to be alive. I just want her to be free.

I happen to like New York

2011-09-10T13:03:00.000-04:00

Walking home, September 5

2011-09-06T17:37:00.000-04:00

Dog on stoop, cab ride home

2011-09-04T12:57:00.000-04:00

Upper West Side, September 2

2011-09-03T22:35:00.001-04:00

Maine, week 4

2011-09-03T08:38:00.000-04:00

Headline writing that makes a difference

2011-08-30T19:52:00.002-04:00

Click screenshot to see more of Rose Rios in action.

Recently, the Los Angeles Times’ Framework photo blog ran a feature on Rose Rios, a 65-year-old former trucking-company owner, and her efforts to aid the homeless in South Los Angeles through her Cover the Homeless Ministry, which she established a decade ago. An excerpt:

“Donations fill nearly every room of her house: bedsheets on the porch, cereal and lotion in the kitchen, clothes in the guestroom, dishes and dressers and 40-pound bags of chicken in refrigerators. Some of the people she helps hug her and say thank you. Others scream at her and curse her out. Rios says she doesn’t do it for the gratitude. She does it because she can relate: she dropped out of school at 15 and before the age of 19 she had three children. She was in one bad relationship after another. She learned her lesson and wants others, especially women, to do the same.”

Hers is a remarkable story. But I was surprised by the headline the editors wrote to describe it: “A grandmother makes a difference.” Rios' work for the homeless has no connection to her grandchildren, so why does her being a grandmother merit a mention in the headline?

I've always been aggravated by the propensity of editors, especially tabloid editors, to use “granny” and “grandmother” to describe a woman of a certain age, particularly when they want to suggest that the woman is weak, frail, and vulnerable in order to boost the drama of their story. That sort of exaggeration and oversimplification is like junk food—really fun for a moment and then it makes you feel bad, and can do long-term damage.

I know that in our culture—which is still struggling to grasp that being female does not automatically mean acting like a so-called lady, wanting to be likeable, and being incapable of emotional or physical strength and intellectual rigor—a headline like, to use a fake example, "Grandmother stops robbery" is going to grab more readers than "Neighborhood woman stops robbery." But it's lazy writing, and when you think about it, it makes zero sense. After all, if Rios had been a dude with grandkids, you can be sure the headline would not have been, “A grandfather makes a difference.” In the future, I'd like to see an editor make a difference and write a better headline.

Maine, week 3

2011-08-23T17:36:00.000-04:00

Pies sold from a house. The woman who lives there bakes and sells only in July and August, peak tourist season. Pies are $17 each. If she's going to be out, she'll leave a selection of pies in a pair of coolers on her front porch, along with a cup of dollar bills so you can make your own change.


Sea urchin scooped up from the ocean by Julia.


Somewhere near Stonington.


Fisherman's truck, Stonington.


Backyard at night.


Fancy antiques show, Blue Hill.


Outside an antiques shop in Orland.

Big Chicken Barn Books & Antiques, Ellsworth.

Maine, week 2

2011-08-16T21:13:00.001-04:00

Maine, week 1

2011-08-09T18:51:00.001-04:00

The Electric Slide

2011-07-27T11:16:00.000-04:00

Earlier this summer, I was in Washington Square Park and noticed someone had set up a small boombox near the fountain. This person—I wasn't sure of the gender—played songs at a modest volume and danced to them, all of the dances being group-friendly. One of them was the Electric Slide, another was the Macarena. Wearing a colorful plaid shirt and a constant smile, this person danced to each tune, sometimes alone and sometimes with passersby who joined in, like the guy in this photo.

Eventually, the "Macarena" came on again, attracting a bunch of parkgoers, as well as the guys from the nearby hot-dog cart.

And near me, a shy little girl of about 8 years watched from the safety of her mother's side, silently doing the moves, her skinny limbs bending in time with the music.

Orlando, July 20

2011-07-21T08:25:00.001-04:00

The house.

The neighborhood.

Claudina, Domingo, and me. Photos by Myrna Feliciano!

Orlando, July 17

2011-07-19T12:29:00.000-04:00

Madison Square Park and a Village sunshower

2011-07-13T22:42:00.000-04:00

MoMA's design portfolio

2011-07-11T08:41:00.000-04:00

The in-house design team at the Museum of Modern Art has launched an online portfolio of its work, ranging from promotional brochures to attract teen museumgoers to the installation of exhibitions such as “Abstract Expressionist New York.” Seeing all of this work in one spot, and observing how the designers use artwork, photography, and typography to express the content and appeal of each show or program, is fascinating and inspiring.

Bottino, July 7

2011-07-09T07:20:00.002-04:00

Flowers Inside

2011-07-06T12:11:00.000-04:00

Earlier today, at a deli a few blocks from the apartment.

Master Class

2011-07-03T11:34:00.001-04:00

I went to see Master Class yesterday. A spontaneous decision; it was already 7 p.m. when I headed to the TKTS booth. Even at that hour, though, you can score a single ticket. There's almost always a single available.

The energy level was intense. Times Square was swarming with tourists, and it seems no one in line had paid attention to the exhortations of the TKTS staff to pick out a few shows they'd like to see in case their first choice was sold out. People were going up to the window and only then reading the board to see what interested them. With only 20 minutes left till curtain, those of us waiting behind them were growing impatient. Two very tall, blonded, leathery women wearing heavy makeup and showy, strappy, skin-baring outfits watched the timid woman ahead of me order her ticket and then slowly open her purse to fish around for her wallet. "We're in line. You think they'd want to have their money ready?" one of the rawhide women said loudly to her friend. I don't look or sound like a cast member of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, but I did feel a kinship with this perfumed bruiser.

The frustration vanished, though, the moment I got my ticket and was on my way. Now I was part of the migration to a Broadway theater, that wonderful and often comical rush that occurs in the theater district between 7 and 8, and I was about to sit in one of those beautiful old showplaces with an audience of strangers who share my excitement and anticipation. Outside the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, the last of the ticketholders were filing in. I asked a woman in line to take my photo in front of the Master Class poster. A man almost walked right into the shot. It was Norman Lear. He was on his way in too.

Tyne Daly is one of my all-time favorites, and the house loved her too. When she made her first entrance, there was a long round of applause. I remember reading that's she not especially tall, just average height, but she held that stage. She commanded it, while also portraying real vulnerability. She was brilliant.

After the show, I decided to join the group waiting at the stage door. I'm not one for autographs, but I felt like being a master fan this night. Plus, it was interesting just observing the others who were waiting. There were friendly-faced middle-aged people with point-and-shoot cameras and quite a few kids who seemed to be in their late teens, maybe early 20s. They had their programs and Sharpies ready for autograph signing. They do this often, it seemed. It was very cute.

And when Tyne finally emerged, she did not disappoint. It took me a moment to comprehend how small she actually is. She's my height, but after seeing her so mighty on the stage, she looked so…human. While I thought about this, the group moved in around her to get her to sign their Playbill.

And two young guys politely asked if she'd take a picture with them.

And I gave her my program to sign, and when she handed it back, I said, "Thank you kindly." And she looked at me and said, "My pleasure," and flashed me that warm smile that I know so well from Cagney & Lacey.

The theaters, which had all been alight just 30 minutes before, were now going dark and locking down for the evening. It was 11, but it felt too early to go home. I went to the Rum House at the old Hotel Edison and had a drink. There was a young singer performing, chubby, fresh faced, and wearing a cocktail dress and a flower in her hair. While she took a break, her pianist played some songs. The place was pretty empty and dark and cool, kind of perfect after being immersed in the post-show bustle of 47th Street.

From there, I went to Joe Allen, that old theater institution, for dinner. And then took a cab home. I'm already thinking of what show to see next...

Night

2011-07-01T08:24:00.002-04:00

McCarren Park, Williamsburg, June 30.

From my living-room window.

The parade

2011-06-27T12:40:00.000-04:00

Hudson River, June 19

2011-06-19T21:58:00.001-04:00

Evening

2011-06-18T21:19:00.001-04:00

The river, at my favorite spot, Thursday night.

View from the apartment, 9 PM, Saturday.

"In our time, I think a great artist will be discovered no matter what."

2011-06-09T15:25:00.002-04:00

"In our time, I think a great artist will be discovered no matter what. Nineteenth-century artists like Van Gogh went unnoticed. But with communications what they are now, with a number of people willing to look at art and give it a chance, no artist who reaches out a little bit and is worthy of attention is likely to go unnoticed." —art dealer Ivan Karp to Barbaralee Diamonstein, in response to Diamonstein's question about how important a dealer is to artists.

Theirs is one of many Diamonstein-led interviews in Inside New York's Art World. The book was published in 1979, before the Internet, blogs, Twitter, Facebook, and all the other super-accessible self-promoting tools that are now available to artists. I wonder if Karp would still make this statement today, or if he would feel that with so many artists reaching out, it's once again likely that worthy artists will go unnoticed.

2011-06-09T09:07:00.003-04:00

The windowsill at the first flight of stairs in my apartment building is where people leave stuff that they no longer need or want but think others might like. I don't know how that came to be the "free stuff" place, and no one ever tapes a "Take me" note to the things they put there; it just seems to be understood that whatever you find there is up for grabs.

In the past year and a half of passing that windowsill on the way to my place, I've seen corduroys, shoes, lampshades, magazines, books, belts, candy, and other assorted castaways. I've started taking photos…

Boston

2011-06-02T20:48:00.005-04:00

I'm in Boston for the Flash Forward Festival, where I'm part of a panel discussion on marketing. The hotel is on the water. Beyond wonderful.

Chelsea, 21st and 8th

2011-06-02T20:42:00.006-04:00

Netflixed: "Naked City"

2011-05-31T09:54:00.006-04:00

Shot on location in the late '40s in Manhattan. Beautiful photography. Hard-boiled narrator and sensitive characters. A glimpse of the first Sol Moscot, which is still in operation at the corner of Orchard and Delancey. Also of the Essex Market, which is rumored to be moving sometime in the nearish future. Scenes capturing everyday life in the city. All the myriad forms of life happening simultaneously in this steel-and-concrete honeycomb.

Some stills I took with my computer:

Getting on the subway.

Entrance to Manhattan Bridge.

Essex Market.

Orchard Street.

Claudina, early '40s

2011-05-23T21:57:00.001-04:00

Orlando

2011-05-23T13:19:00.009-04:00

Dinner with Diana at Hillstone at sunset.

Diana.

Claudina greeting a neighbor.

Photo of me by Claudina. She loves to take pictures. Mastering the iPhone camera took a few tries, but she got it and kept going till she got the shots she wanted.

Claudina in the front yard, with her flowers.

Orlando, Thursday

2011-05-19T22:29:00.000-04:00

My grandfather quoted Shakespeare today:

"Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

He memorized it in high school. Still remembers it. Someone we know died last night, and we got the news today. He was very sad. And as we were working in the kitchen this afternoon, he recited this.

Orlando: Last walk of the night

2011-05-19T10:57:00.000-04:00

Recent iPhoneography

2011-05-17T10:15:00.000-04:00

Williamsburg couch.

West 14th Street.

Fish at Chelsea Market.

Pigeon-toed dog doing a trick at Radio Shack.

West Village corner.


Sleeping dog, Williamsburg.

Billowing dress, Chelsea.

Danny's lottery tickets

2011-05-11T12:06:00.000-04:00

Photo taken at Ofrenda, West Village.

Prospect Park, May 8

2011-05-10T07:50:00.001-04:00

Lights in Chelsea

2011-05-08T20:50:00.003-04:00

I took these…

…at the vivid Paul Kolker show called "Let There Be Light!" at Studio601 last weekend. It was an exciting exhibition, but you couldn't tell right away. The room looked pretty innocent till I got close to stuff…

"27 Good-byes"

2011-05-03T09:10:00.000-04:00

Photographer Deanna Dikeman made a book of photos of her parents waving goodbye to her from their driveway. The pictures go back 18 years. It's called 27 Good-byes. So beautiful.

A week in Florida

2011-04-12T20:07:00.005-04:00

Ted Smallwood's Store, a general store that opened in 1906 in Chocoloskee, an Everglades town, and has been preserved. A lifesize tribute to Ted sits enjoying the breeze through the window…

Good local seafood, friendly service, and the best key-lime pie EVER at little Camellia St. Grill, charming in the daytime and magical at night…

Frog legs for lunch after an airboat ride…

Gators galore at H.P. Williams Roadside Park…

And then to South Beach. Ah, South Beach…

Even the jellyfish in Miami have style…

I wasn't the only one taking pictures…

A lone sunbather…

The sun is nice, but I prefer shade-bathing…

Dinner poolside at the Raleigh and then taking photos of the street as seen through the block glass in the hotel's ladies' room, just because…

A last dip in the hotel pool.

Blank City

2011-04-07T11:56:00.001-04:00

Went to the IFC last night to see Blank City, a documentary by Celine Dahnier about the downtown art/music/film (mostly film) scene in the late '70s and '80s. An absorbing, electrifying movie that avoids sentimentality and nostalgia.

There was a pretty big crowd for a rainy night, and we had to wait in line for a while in the lobby before they'd seat us. I was standing near a flat-screen showing some of the big names who've been interviewed at IFC. Some photos I took with my iPhone:

Sissy Spacek.

John Cameron Mitchell.

Cornel West.

Ack, can't remember his name…

Another one I can't recall…

Juliette Binoche.

Here's the IFC's Harris Dew introducing the director before the screening:

And these are some stills from the movie that I took (unauthorized, in the spirit of No Wave) from my seat, hence the obscuring chairtop shapes at the bottom of the frames.

Pat Place of the Bush Tetras.

The Bush Tetras.

Here's the trailer for Blank City:

Blank City Official Trailer from Celine Danhier on Vimeo.

Hudson River, Friday, March 18

2011-03-20T09:54:00.000-04:00

Photos from the past few weeks

2011-03-18T12:35:00.006-04:00


Green wall, East Village.

Checkout counter at West Village hardware store.

One of two resident cats at New London Pharmacy, Chelsea.

Dinner at Noodle Bar on Carmine Street.


McNally Jackson on Prince Street.

Angel Street Thrift on West 17th Street.

A local entrepreneur.

Portfolio review!

2011-03-17T10:00:00.001-04:00

I'll be one of the reviewers at the APA New York's Spring Portfolio Review next month. In a nod to where the industry has been headed, the reviews will cover both motion and stills. Should be interesting!

Walking, March 4

2011-03-05T11:28:00.002-05:00

From 22nd Street and 8th Avenue to 60th and 9th, then to 58th and 11th and back down to Chelsea.

Hell's Kitchen butcher.

Duane Reade, 50s and 10th Ave.

Lunch was a BLT and a chocolate ice cream soda with whipped cream. Market Diner, 43rd and 11th.

Empty lot whose surface looked topographical.