2022 in a Flurry of Photographs

Underscored by Some Piano Playing

Dec 31, 2022

While the video program I used forgot to arrange these images by month, they’re all from 2022, and I thought of presenting them in a short video with a performance of Auld Lang Syne for company. Please enjoy a brief year in review, as seen mainly from the sidewalks and subways of New York.

Tomorrow, I’ll start my 2023 collection.


PB Warrington (my collaborative column poet) has added this in reaction to the image presentation:

The year is gone, but will we miss it? Days of masks and free testing,

then days without either.

The humor of a person holding up a mobile, the words to the right giving

the perfect context: "using the/you already have." It has been and will

be forever more about making with what you have.

Skylines and lines of sky and birds atop roofs, a powerboat that could

be anywhere, in a cityscape or upstate.

Queues and queues and more queues, the unavoidable truth of NYC--now or

a century ago. The juxtaposition of a near-empty transit station. Above

ground, the endless line of eyes telling stories above the masks, Below

ground, the loneliness of separation, all travelers keeping their distance.

A walker with a magnetic pearl white umbrella against the rain sheltered

beneath the scaffolding of yet more construction.

Beautiful lights through abandoned trees and parks, then the

universality of fast pacing and a child staring longingly at the bag

holding some yearned-for item beneath an image hawking yet another

yearned-for item.

A woman in bright hijab walking past a wooden front, a scene from

anywhere in the world. Then the march of the umbrellas on the stairs,

followed by the sun and clear sky and full faces on their way for afghan

kebabs or island burgers and shakes. Food thousands of miles apart,

right next door.

The short-lived small flowers opening the way for another walker sans

mask out for a warm stroll, many signs of life returning, however fragile.

Movement to the lover's denouement, and yet closing on the birds at the

water all watching each other as if wondering what the other has to say,

each glance closing the distance between all life.

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