I'm trying to see their world.
Which means standing where they stand.
Making It.
I told the cab "Broadway and Great Jones." I was sixteen. It was my first time in New York. I remember standing outside Tower Records that afternoon and looking down Broadway. I felt incredibly free and inspired. I thought it would fade away. It never did.
Twenty-five years have gone by, and every glance I throw at this city magically feels brand new.
"Making It…" is a tale of 24 hours in New York.
Between 2017 and 2020, I captured the subtle ballet of crowds at different times of the day. At dawn, some were heading to school or the office, others home from a long night out. Later in the morning, you'd see a doorman catching some winter sun, a headless Mickey Mouse in a Times Square back alley, and with luck, you could stumble upon a group of nuns zebra crossing like the Beatles on Abbey Road. Some shots would make me smile, some would move me profoundly.
Mostly taken from the back, these pictures convey the grind and the doubts that make this city race around the clock, in hopes of Making It…
Athletes of New York.
A series on the way bodies use the city. Skateboards, brooms, basketballs, Citibikes. Yoga in Vanderbilt Hall. A kid in a Mbappé 10 jersey walking south toward the Empire State Building. A waiter on his cigarette break.
It started in 2016, in passing. For four years I photographed people in motion whenever I came across them.
In spring 2020, the city emptied.
The second half is what remained: masks on the basketball courts, runners in the rain, kids walking to Pier 26 with a ball.
Artists of New York.
New York keeps its studios in plain sight. A trumpet at the Rose Bar, a violinist on a SoHo sidewalk during lockdown, a mascot taking off his Mickey head on Sixth Avenue, a cello case left outside a stoop.
Nineteen frames of musicians, performers and the places they work, along with a few instruments left behind.
Mostly from the back, as always.
Mostly walking. Sometimes the artist has already gone and only the instrument remains.
After Hours of New York.
A version of New York that exists after nine o'clock. Bars, the Dead Rabbit seen from the balcony, a marble lobby on Wall Street, the bassist at Birdland.
And outside: wet streets, lit windows, a woman in heels at the 28th Street station, a man on the corner of Prince Street at one in the morning.
The series ends in the spring of 2020.
April and May 2020: the rooms still lit and nobody in them. Empty bars, empty crosswalks.
Lovers of New York.
Couples on benches, on platforms, behind windows. Balloons carried through Times Square, a bouquet walked across town on a Sunday morning.
Fourteen frames, 2017 to 2020.
Three chapters: couples, the tokens of it, and the quieter kinds.
Cats & Dogs of New York.
Two Afghan hounds on a Sunday Starbucks run. A bulldog on a skateboard in Washington Square. A pug in an argyle sweater between two old men on a bench. A doodle watching the game at the West 4th Street courts.
Eleven frames, August 2019 to April 2020.
Three chapters: the daily walk, the larger gestures, and the characters. The cats are still to come.
Wanderers of New York.
Strangers walking through the city, mostly photographed from behind. A man in a PARIS sweatshirt on Sullivan Street in the rain. Three nuns crossing East 66th Street. A woman in a long white dress at Lafayette and East 4th. A bowler hat in Washington Square.
The city is mostly photographed from the back.
Forty-two frames, May 2018 to August 2020. Three chapters: strangers in motion, the eccentrics found mid-block, and the ones who have stopped for a moment. A dozen of these were made in April and May 2020, on streets with hardly anyone on them.
Next Gen of New York.
Children in the city. On their parents' shoulders, on the subway floor, crossing Washington Place at seven in the morning with a sequined backpack, on scooters down Thompson Street.
Fifteen frames, June 2018 to April 2020.
Three chapters: being walked through the city, being alone in it, and, in the spring of 2020 when the adults stayed home, running it.
Paris the Day it Snowed.
Hôtel Rivié.
An hôtel particulier on rue du Sentier, in the second arrondissement. Photographed in early 2011, during the renovation — between the moment the old life had been removed and the moment the new one was put in. (The building later opened as the Hoxton Paris.)
"The building, with its skin off."
Four chapters — the bones, the stairs, the iron, the skin. The only project on this site where the subject doesn't have a back to turn.
Exhibited at
Light on the Wall.
Twenty-two frames made in Jerusalem, on film, in 2008.
"The light, on the wall."
Three chapters — at the Wall, through the Old City, around the city.
Exhibited at
Where the work has been shown.
Films
Short films — edited and directed.
New York Minute — Vol. 1.
What happens in a New York minute. The city in motion — its bustle, its noise, the sheer density of life compressed into seconds.
New York Minute — Vol. 2.
The second chapter. More city, more motion — everything happening at once, and the camera trying to keep up.
Missed Connection.
Every frame, voice, and edit produced with generative AI. A chance encounter — and the weight of paths not taken.
"The tools are extraordinary. The creative process is fundamentally different. And the result raises questions about authorship, intention, and what we mean when we say someone 'made' a film."
Glimpses of transcendence, one shot at a time.
Growing up in Paris I would often stop on my way to school to observe the different shades of green in a tree. I would halt abruptly, intrigued by the morning light drenching the Eiffel Tower. I was bewildered at how harried people were indifferent to the beauty surrounding them.
Point-and-shoot naturally became my preferred approach to photography, and ever since, I have found humor and majesty in the unexpected, glory in fortuitous beauty.
It is that glimpse of transcendence that I chase after, one shot at a time.
New York, in brief
Prints. Editions of 25.
For prints, licensing, editorial, or any letter about the work.
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