Wednesday
Laura Villa Baroncelli

I moved to NYC in January 2020. When the pandemic started, I didn’t really know anybody, and the few people I knew dispersed quickly: back to Europe, Virginia, Upstate, inside their apartment.  

I still had to go out, to walk Maple, my dog, at least a couple of times a day. She had no idea what was going on. During those solitaire walks in those empty streets, there was not much to look at. Most of the parks were closed, and very little nature was available. For a while we tried to enjoy walking in the middle of the street, or count how many steps I could make without opening my eyes…a city without people doesn’t seem to offer much.  

One day, I decided to pretend I was an explorer, and I started to observe the ground and take little samples of it: one inch of concrete, a mini chunk of asphalt, a small rock.  
Occasionally, I would bring a find home and take a picture of it. Then, I would bring it back.  

There was no special reason to do so. I guess that sometimes we take pictures in order to believe that time has lasted.

The Generator
Samuel Ullman

Recently, there have been many generators in my neighborhood. Some are big, some are small, but all are distinguishable within the pile of miscellaneous construction paraphernalia that typically surrounds them. Generators enable construction workers to do their work. Construction workers bestow progress. Thus, generators herd progress.

Generators can also act as harbingers for construction workers. They are noisy when they are on, so if you hear one from across the street, it usually means two things: that construction workers are present, and that the construction workers are working.

This image will serve as a reminder of the versatility of our city. Even during a pandemic, it has been placed on the street, alongside other necessary tools, to make progress.

Konica Autoreflex T3 with 50mm f1.7 + Fujifilm Superia X-tra 400

Brain Coral
Evan Hagan

This is a piece of brain coral that I found on a beautiful black sand beach in St. Vincent & the Grenadines, on the island of St. Vincent. 

I worked in the Grenadines for two summer’s leading service trips for high school students, where our group would set up free arts-based community day camps on two different islands; St. Vincent and Bequia. At the time I picked up this piece mostly because of its interesting pattern. I’ve always been enamored with serpentine linework coiling and uncoiling on the surface of an object. So, this piece had an immediate appeal to me. But in the intervening years between then and now, it represents more of a trophy. 
 
To get this job as an international trip leader I had to become a lifeguard, and I am not too proud to confess that at the age of 25 (when I was applying) I had not yet learned how to swim. But I was determined to be accepted into this position, and I was not about to let my, at the time, profound fear of water stop me. 
 
It was the fall of 2010 I had just moved to NYC, and I had 6 months to learn how to swim if I was going to be eligible for the job. I enrolled in an evening swim class twice a week at the Asser Levy Recreational Center, near StuyTown. And almost every morning, before work, I would pick myself out of bed, go to the pool and practice what I had learned in class that week. It was hard, scary, and often pretty embarrassing. This lanky 6ft Midwestern transplant, fresh off the bus to NYC, flailing somewhat wildly.....