Modern ruins

I've long been intrigued by the stories buried within the wreckage of past-their-prime pieces of architecture.

My preferred medium for telling these stories is black-and-white film. As compelling as digital photography has become in recent years, nothing approaches the grain structure, the resolution, the sheer starkness of a quality b&w film run through a good camera with a tack sharp lens. In the absence of color, it's up to the subtle shading gradations and edgings to tell the story. It seems simple on the surface, but the interaction of grays can be significantly more engaging than you might initially assume. Black-and-white seems to invite the viewer to linger over the image for a longer period of time. It's a world that's comforting to eyes all too often blinded by the crassness of the modern landscape and its accompanying cacaphony of color.

My weapon of choice in these cases is my now-ancient Nikon F-801s and my 85mm/1.8 portrait lens. Loaded with an agreeably high-resolution, low-ISO-rated b&w film, I can shoot all day until I get what I want.

This shoot was from last September. Happy that I had just decided to quit a miserable job in favor of one that would finally allow me to do what I always intended to do - namely write - I took our two older kids downtown to run some errands and shoot some pictures around a building that was being partially demolished.

This is my favorite of the bunch, since it nails that moment where the future confronts a past it never knew existed. Like a Fitzgerald novel, it's full of obvious differences of size, scale and perspective. And like any good picture, it absolutely takes me back to the moment when I tripped the shutter. I hope you enjoy the view - and the experience - as much as my kids and I did.