In New York City glass tells and hides stories. Constantly moving outside, a still-life inside, and the window is a screen, a barrier, a doorway inviting one in or keeping one out. To photograph windows one needs the right position, the right light, the right timing. And the right choices. Then an image can be made. It is the city of glass, and stories, layered, transient, like a river, no window is ever the same twice. The better the window display work the better bones for the river, but few window designers think outside their box. They consider only the looking in.
In New York it is more likely one sees the outside world in a window before what’s behind the glass. Nothing behind any window has ever surpassed the parade outside it. Glass is a servant of the city. It changes the mechanism of watching, as if watching dual realities, dueling realities, no directors, no actors, just a world within and a world without, both oblivious
and dependent until night, and the fight of light, and I have tried to see this in other cities, but nothing captures like New York glass.
Masterpiece Howard! You Rock!