I've always struggled to accept that some people will pass but only briefly through my life. I grew up in a rural town, population about 1,000, so most figures were relatively consistent throughout my childhood. As I began to branch into the surrounding world, brief acquaintances would put a stranglehold on my emotions.
As I grew older it grew easier, but to this day having a conversation with someone on the subway for five minutes leaves me feeling anxious as we part ways. It's a long ways from the kid who would choke up at the quick kindness of strangers, soon to disappear, but still such a curious thing.
I met Marie in Brooklyn over winter-break, as she couch-surfed at some friends' apartment. An avid cyclist, early in the week she mentioned her desire to have a portrait taken in Times Square with her bike. As the week progressed, the more we discussed this opportunity and the more I, too, felt engaged to the idea.
We wound up heading to Manhattan just as the sun set, as Marie had specified, with another surfer named Annette. By this point, I'd spent all week envisioning our quest, and felt no reserve in shooting an entire roll of film or having to eventually pay for the processing. I'm not sure if the end result is what either of us had hoped for, but I'm quite fond of this photograph, regardless - as I am of the time I was fortunate to spend walking Brooklyn with Marie, and the other irreplaceable people I've met there.
As far as photography factors into this, I'm not sure if I'd forget an image or a memory first, or if one unnecessarily, if at times uncomfortably, lingers due to the other. Does being able to photograph any fleeting thing simply just smear nostalgia across the board and prevent the inevitable acceptance of the ephemeral?
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| Marie, Times Square, NYC |
