As a New Yorker on September 11th, I watched as the second plane hit and the towers fell. I thought I should get my camera, but the moment felt un-photographable—more profound and private. I'm not a photojournalist because I hesitate. While others go for the blood and tears, I hang back. And yet, every day I see the images I didn't take that day; the frozen expressions that could have said so much more than words.
There is so much sorrow in this post-election air that I want to catch it, freeze it this time, and share it with others. Now, once a week, I take my camera to Powell Street and I stop people at random. I want to know how they're feeling, in just one word, as I try to capture it on film. As I wait between shots, often they exhale deeply and then give a look that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Click.
I'm surprised by the range of emotions—despair, hope, disappointment, loneliness. And I am struck by the hope and the resilience of the human race. —Brooke Auchincloss, brookelife.com
