So, this is how small the world really is. I am in a bar called the Bubble Lounge on West Broadway for a photography exhibit with some photographer friends. It’s a rainy and chilly night in the lower west side, the autumn breeze makes the fumes of the subway fly diagonally while I cross the street…(and not, this is not a Woody Allen movie based in a NYC of 1975). It’s 2011 and intellectual with cameras at hand are meeting up in a bar for some drinks, a laughter and some sweet photo from Japan showed on a projector with the Beirut playing in the background.
I am late, as usual because the GPS on my phone had decided to die on me and in this era of computer and tech-everythigs, I rely on my iPhone too much. In any case, I get into the bar and started chatting it away about the Sunday protest in Times Square. I meet other photographers who were there and we start discussing about the 99% and the irony of it all. Or maybe we are just trying to justify our “obsession” for photography for which we decided to spend our whole Saturday night on the street shooting while our friends were comfortably sitting on a bar lounge enjoying a Vodka Martini.
In any case, while I am speaking, this young photographer guy I never met tells me:
“I know you where…I took a shoot of your legs!”
“You did what,” I reply in disbelief *(there were something like 15,000 people out in the streets that night)…and I was also wearing pants!
“Were you wearing denim jeans and some grey shoes up to your ankle?”
Well indeed I was…
And so the story goes: In a city of 18 million people, we are not invisible after all.