Absence

There's something wonderfully mysterious about this image, somewhat like a graphic novel.

On a trip into Manhattan this past week, I was sitting on the train, a double-decker, shooting down at the door. When it opened at each stop, I photographed the people coming in and out. Of all the images, I found this one most interesting.

Like in writing, it's sometimes what is left out, what is absent rather than what is included in an image that makes it memorable. Here we can feel the anticipation of waiting for someone to walk through the door or sit down on the bench. Our imagination starts to work...

Will it be someone old or young, male or female, black or white, healthy or infirm?

I'm also attracted to its black-and-white properties with a hint of red repeated inside and out. None of this could have been planned. And how it happens is always a mystery.

Passing

This month I've traveled to Manhattan by train more frequently than I have in the 22 years I've lived on the East End of Long Island. Usually, I use the two hours to catch up on my reading or my sleep.
But last week I turned my gaze to the slide show that sped past my window. To slow it down, I set my shutter speed to 1/25 second and pointed my camera outside. Warehouses, parking lots, strip malls and graffiti flew by. Instantly, I scanned the images I had collected so quickly on my digital camera.
While the blur created an interesting effect, I found nothing that inspired. Trying again, I tilted my lens downward toward the ground and kept pressing. Rails flashed; metal moved side to side, up and down. Life was passing and so was time.
Apropos after this past weekend when I traveled back and forth to the city to see old friends from Syracuse University and to attend a reunion we had been planning for months. Is life passing forward or backward? Sometimes it's hard to tell.