Market

"Why do you like farmer's markets?" Alex asked.

Surprised by questioning such an apparent truth, I stumbled for a few moments as we navigated the dense crowds at the Union Square Farmer's Marker.

"It reminds me of places outside of New York. I grew up going to them with my parents," I continued. "Now that I live in New York, its grounding." Although our conversation stopped shortly thereafter that Saturday, I continued to contemplate my attraction to farmer's markets.

The next morning, I awoke early to a gray spring morning. Walking through the rain, I grabbed some coffee and then headed towards the farmer's market on 77th and Columbus. The rain fended off the strollers and golden retrievers and gave everything a green hue. Moving slowly down the row of vendors, I took my time hunting for the week's groceries.

Grass fed, yuppie bought.

All of these photos were taken with Sigma's 50mm f1.4 lens. It beats Canon hands down.

Greens and purples.

Browns and Tans.

Wet, gray and orange.

Exchange.

Oyster Mushrooms.

Eggs and Spuds.

Everything got wet.

Apples.

Lugging my groceries in an assortment of plastic and paper bags, I listened to the sound of loose change sloshing around in my pocket. As I counted the blocks down in my head, I regretted shopping on an empty stomach. With a snap, one of the plastic bags broke, spilling apples on Columbus Ave. Right there, I succeeded in answering Alex's question to Stuff White People Like, Article 5. I will be back next week.

Here are some more links,

Farmer's Market (Picasa),

Farmville (ART).

Winter

I arrived home in the beginning of January to forgotten Christmas trees, empty Fresh Direct boxes and mountains of garbage along the streets of Manhattan. In the Northeast, the holidays aren't half-time in the scheme of winter but merely the first quarter. A constant cycle of heavy snowfall and subsequent rain and thawing sets the tempo. Without this baseline of uncomfortable weather, the occasional sunny day in the 40s would be taken for granted.

Here are some of my my photos taken in the last month, during my first winter in New York.

Candy cured bacon.

Newspaper, Columbus Ave.

My Aunt and Uncle's fireplace in Bala Cynwyd.

Bloody Mary, Peels.

Snow day, Central Park.

Street meat malfeasance.

Allusions to Maine.

Drinks in Williamsburg

A warm day in the East Village.

Yours truly. My friend Alexxa took this photo.

Farmers Market.

Another snow day in Central Park.

At the warm points in the thaw and snow cycle, spring feels right around the corner. The next storm dashes these hopes. We still have two more months left. Now you can call it halftime.

Here are some more links,

January (Picasa),
February (Picasa).

Out of Reception: Summer Begone

The storm broke overnight. I awoke with a jump to the brisk morning air typical of early October. Attempting to prolong my rest and fend off the cold, I covered my head with my comforter and waited for my alarm. After twenty minutes of minor discomfort, I preempted my phone's obnoxious sounds and climbed out of bed. On my way to the shower I vengefully closed my window. For the first time in months, I ordered my large Americana sans ice from the friendly woman at Joe's. Steam escaped from my cup on my morning walk to work, and I paused for an instant pulling my iPhone from my pocket to change the song and snap a photo of the season's first steam.

Since adopting a professional schedule somewhat resembling a 9 to 5 but striking a closer resemblance to an 8 to 7:30, I rarely take my 5D Mark II with me on my commute and rompings around New York. Instead, I rely on my iPhone to capture moments around me. Along with maintaining a general level of overall ineffectiveness when making calls, my phone continues to produce some of my favorite images. Here are a few from the last four months.

A sunset in July.

Twilight in mid July.

A foggy sunrise at Popham Beach, Maine in late July.

Green in Central park in early August.

A view of Central Park on Forth of July Weekend.

Sunset on the Jaquelin Kennedy reservoir in mid June.

A view from the roll bar of a 1957 Willy's Jeep in Moiser, Oregon during Labor Day weekend.

The last rays of a mid September evening on the Upper West Side.

My two cameras in Early September.

A hazy September morning on my walk to work.

Jarad Hadi in Southeast Portland in early September.

An Indian Summer evening after work in Midtown.

A Saturday skateboarding at the Chelsea pier.

Tapping on the screen between sips of my tongue-burning coffee, I eventually settled on "Cortez the Killer." Turning up the volume, I shifted the tiny lens of my iPhone towards my coffee cup and fired away. Unfortunately, the image didn't turn out the way I envisioned, and I continued on my walk enticed by the steam of my beverage and the comfort of my Filson Jacket.

Here are some more links,
Out of Reception: Early Summer (Picasa),
Out of Reception: Life Changes Fast (Picasa),
Out of Reception: Last of Summer (Picasa),
Out of Reception (A.R.T.)

New Space

Moving away from the open spaces of New England has changed me. I noticed it first when I was home in the Northwest waiting for a table at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. Standing four feet from the door, I chatted with my brother about the day's activities.

"Excuse me."

Turning in disbelief, I looked into the face of an early forties, Teva and sock wearing woman. With a pleasant yet affirming grin she motioned to the door.

Obliging, I stepped towards my brother and continued our conversation. To the suburban Oregonian, sharing this mere six foot opening with strangers after a fajita and local micro brew probably felt like an overzealous yellow lab attempting to follow a fleeing cat through a cat door. However, with my new found perspective as a four month resident of New York, I looked at this ample gap as a rare luxury.

This change in environment has affected not only my perception of space but also my aesthetic taste. Adapting less by choice and more by my insatiable curiosity about my surroundings, I look for colors and details in the interiors around me.

A bookshelf in the West Village.

Decorations courtesy of David Coggins at his Manhattan Apartment.

Chairs in Philadelphia.

Sunday morning light in the West Village.

Peppers from a rooftop garden.

Old wood floors near the Corner Bistro.

More of David's decorations.

Edge.

An adjustable fan.

I am glad to adjust my perspective of space and experience tight places for a while. This change of context and appreciation of different places makes my time away from the city that much more enjoyable.

Here are some more links,

Coggins (Picasa),

Sunday Morning (Picasa),

Gathering (Picasa).