I hesitated before I took this shot.
I was on my way to the garage from our apartment, loaded down with bags and clothes that I was hauling with me to the car. But as I dashed across the street, stepping over and into puddles as I went, I glanced at the construction scene going on next door to our building. And saw my picture.
It's not the best shot, artistically speaking. Instead, I'm posting it because it has a metaphorical significance for me: I almost blew it off, and then I just reached into my bag, grabbed my camera and took it. I made the picture happen, even though it wasn't convenient and I wasn't "in the mood." I did it partly out of regret for having already missed a great scene the day before, when I was walking along the East River on my way to play tennis- and was still kicking myself for being too lazy to consider bringing my camera along then.
The sky was spattering rain when I saw the facade. There it was, waiting patiently to be taken down brick by brick, just as the other buildings around it had already succumbed in recent weeks. It was begging to be photographed, and though it was raining and I was in a hurry, and the lighting wasn't right, I took it anyway. And arrived at the garage soaked, but happy.
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