My memory of the city holds it pretty much the same as we know it today. But the major thing, the thing about memory, and how large places we grew in became small; how everything around us has really stayed the same; there was a different feeling about it, and while all the creativity and energy never died, nor was it ever non-existent at any point in New York time, memories associate the city back in time with more of a warm glow, like a big hug, a place so familiar to everyone that you wouldn't see hundreds of faces looking up in wonder. What I despise most about New-New York, is that we don't see the home in it anymore, and without that familiarity how can we protect a place we don't care about?
These pictures hold a vibrant color as if they were taken yesterday. Places all familiar and yet different, on one corner a mundane typical diner boasts home cooking in a neon light, where there now stands a restaurant with open window boxes and swing out stained wood window frames. And in many other photos the plastic signs with up to the minute design skills in their fonts have been preceded by only the loudest colors of paint calling to attention the beauty of placement of all shapes of rusty metal stairs and all our entryways and the variety of stores we always had. And yet the sidewalks were quiet as the population was so much less than it was today, before our wave of people that came in after Moses, I'm sorry, Giuliani, told everyone that the city was safe.
Anyway I'm veering way off track, my point is: In my memory things were fuzzy and warm and I knew nothing of fear and crime, not on the streets, not in my city. I thought my memory had deceived me as time had moved faster. Each decade that passes has people saying that the decade before was dangerous, and so I wondered, maybe as a child I just wasn't tall enough to see through my softer eyes. But when I see these pictures I see memories that I didn't even know I had.
Here the set: New York City 1978-1985