I keep finding IDs on the streets of New York. Real and fake. I have tried to return them without luck. Now the real and contrived versions of strangers and myself are suspended in motion. We are interconnected but we do not touch.
Untitled (Found Photograph)
Someone dropped this photograph by the turnstile of the First Avenue Brooklyn-bound L train. For a few days, I carried this picture around the city in my own wallet, re-folding the photo along the pre-existing creases. Whoever dropped this was also walking around this same city. Is also walking around this same city. The subject of the photograph likely is, too. Some span of time after you have looked into his young eyes, you will exit this gallery. Then you, too, will keep walking these same shared city streets. (Collaborator: Macaulee Cassaday picked this up, said, “Here,” and stood next to me, looking into my eyes as we missed the train and as we waited for the next one.)