2011 Fashion

Showing posts with label night. Show all posts

paris postcard: from the balcony, night 1...

the tour maine-montparnasse was, until 2011, the tallest skyscraper in france. at 689 feet (59 floors), this monolithic slab dominates the view in montparnasse (and it serves an effective landmark for us, but skyscrapers were banned in the city center two years after its completion).

may 19, 2011

nocturnal stills

april 23, 2011

photos © anita aguilar

read a good poem: the antilamentation

"regret nothing."

***

nyc, jan 2010.

photo © anita aguilar

***

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook, not
the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication, not
the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punch line, the door or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don't regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the living room couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You've walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You've traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the window.
Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied of expectation.
Relax. Don't bother remembering any of it. Let's stop here,
under the lit sign on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.

--dorianne laux via the writer's almanac, march 7, 2011

supermoon, take 2 (the big white ball)

i love my camera (a canon rebel xsi) and my lenses (a sigma 50mm 1.4 and a tamron zoom), but i was pretty sure neither lens, nor my little g10, would be able to offer a proper "picture" of the supermoon, as big and bright and clear as it was to my eye last night. but i went for it anyway.

in all the wrong places...

fifth ave, nyc

"starry" night

34th/lex, nyc. december 29, 2010.

photo ©anita aguilar

the scene: fire on first avenue

i try always to have a camera with me, even if it's just a point and shoot...

my friend, mary and i were finishing dinner downtown, when this scene started to unfold. engines and ladders and mervs (mobile emergency recon vehicles)--it was a big fire.
we didn't see it, but could see the firemen with flashlights in one of the apartments on the top floor.
and we could smell the burn.

i feel strange saying this, but i like some of these shots, especially the one of the girl with the fur-lined hood on the bicycle and the one of the red bike (lonely in the right frame), mostly for the drama of all the artificial lights against the cloudy sky. they are not crystal clear--i probably needed a faster lens or a tripod for that. but i think they work somehow.

hopefully no one was hurt.

shot with the canon g10

december 22, 2010

all photos © anita aguilar

night in the city: stride along

fifth avenue, nyc. dec 19, 2010.

photos © anita aguilar

detour

at the start of every work day, i step off the 5th floor elevator, say hello to shawn, our receptionist, tap my picture id on a small, square black pad by her desk, and swing through our office's glass double doors. i take a several rushed steps. my eyes are always drawn to the wide windows on the right, windows that overlook union square park. i might smile a bit every day because of them.

but i always make a left, down a high and long, artificially bright corridor, to my dim, windowless cubicle. those front windows--all that sky, sometimes the sun-- tease me all day, every day. from time to time, on my way to or from a meeting in our conference room, i'll stop and have a lookout. (it's fun to be the one towering over the trees. i like seeing how we new yorkers move.) but i don't allow myself time every day to enjoy it. i'm not sure why. i should never be too busy to appreciate that view.

i stopped tonight:

with the g10. union square park, dec 2, 2010.

not a great picture, but a good idea.

will stop again, soon.

good night light

november 20, 2010

photo © anita aguilar

the high line (color, this time)

14th street, nyc

the standard hotel

november 13, 2010

all photos © anita aguilar

monochrome class: the high line

jen and sheena

my turn (thank you, sister)

november 13, 2010

and the city was bright

in the night-time, like day...*

(or rather, nice and just bright enough. july 9, 2010)

*"the prodigal son" by james weldon johnson

kids, all right

two cameras and i made the trek out to governors island last night for the local natives show on governor's island. i took a few snapshots with the g10, because it was beautiful dusky ride.

look at all the kids...

i was reminded of cinco de mayo dinner with handsome writer friend. i, running characteristically late, sent an apologetic text to him, waiting at the bar/restaurant.

he responded with understanding, but then described the scene: "crowded with youth."

i laughed out loud. we went elsewhere.

***

video and photos from the show to come...

read a good poem: yours & mine

Through your lens the sequoia swallowed me
like a dryad. The camera flashed & forgot.
I, on the other hand, must practice my absent-
mindedness, memory being awkward as a touch
that goes unloved. Lately your eyes have shut
down to a shade more durable than skin’s. I know you
love distance, how it smooths. You choose an aerial view,
the city angled to abstraction, while I go for the close
exposures: poorly-mounted countenances along Broadway,
the pigweed cracking each hardscrabble backlot.
It’s a matter of perspective: yours is to love me
from a block away & mine is to praise the grain-
iness that weaves expressively: your face.

--alice fulton via poetry foundation.org