Items
Tag is exactly
walks
-
2020-04-06The New Plague
Life in Self-isolation, "Love in the Time of COVID-19" Project, CIN 211 College of Staten Island -
2020-03-31Unplugged
This photograph was taken one day when I was out on a walk with my mother. I am in college, so we were forced to shut down and head home early for the semester. I live in Northern California, so it is very hilly and green in the springtime. Since we shut down before many other states did, we were forced to entertain ourselves at home for the majority of quarantine. My mom and I are both very into fitness, so we decided that we would take a two mile walk each day. I took this picture one day on our walk. I am calling this story “unplugged” because I feel that I may not have gone on these walks with my mom if we had other things to do. When on these walks, I was really able to take in nature and have great conversations with my mom. I feel that this was a super important time for me. I was not focused on anything that was going on around me besides the fact that I was spending time outside with my mom. This image is important to me for a number of reasons. This was a beautiful image of a landscape looking out into the hilly greenery of Northern California. I think that this picture is a representation of how we can find beauty even in the midst of a hard time. I took this picture at the start of the pandemic since it was taken late March. This was a time of lots of unknown and worry around the country. This is a time that everyone has to find happiness in each other, and learn to work with what we have. It is also important to take the time and spend time with the ones you love, as well as take time for yourself. These walks that I took with my mom allowed me to do both. I was able to take time for myself, as well as spend time with my mom after being away at school for a year. -
04/13/2020Laura Spindler Lempke Oral History, 2020/04/13
Oral history interview with Laura Spindler who lives and works in Indianapolis, Indiana. She shares she just got married, bought a house, and a puppy. She works as a biologist at Eli Lilly and while she hasn't worked on the virus, she has assembled test kits. As an extrovert she is really missing time with family and friends but between walks with her new puppy and time spent playing games via Zoom she is managing. She also credits virtual therapy appointments with maintaining her mental health. She also discusses her mother who is alone and her grandparents who were wintering in Texas but drove back to Indiana anyway. -
05/05/2020James Ziehr Oral History, 2020/05/05
This is part of a undergrad/ grad project at UW - Eau Claire for a public history course, taught by Dr. Cheryl Frei. -
2020-03Old bear!
All the playgrounds were shut and it was school holidays. The kiddies had only bikes and walks as nothing was open at all during our period of lockdown. A young mother I vaguely knew was walking past one day and I said I was meaning to drag some bears out of the shed and she was so pleased as she was finding it hard to keep her 6 year old entertained. For the next 4 weeks they walked past every day and she sent me a message saying her young daughter was making up stories about Old Bear. In a very small way, Old Bear helped her and the other kiddies who would help out when they saw Old Bear. I felt in a small way we were helping to brighten someone's day. -
2020-03-18Plague Journal, Day 5: Drawing WiffWaffles
As the reality of the pandemic begins to dawn across the country, I walk through Prospect Park, hear strangers express anxiety, and interact with The Kid via text and on a walk in north Flatbush. -
2020-05-24Date in Dog Park
These photos were taken in a dog park in an early morning. This is the first time I went out for a walk with my boyfriend so early to watch the sunrise although we didn't see the sun on that cloud day. It was fun to take off my mask on the street without people to breathe in the fresh air during this hard time. Covid-19 changes our way to date, from city to wilderness, from theatre, coffee shop to the parks and lakes. -
2020-04-24Streets and Avenues / New York City (XVIII)
After college, and a year of vagabonding through Central and South America, I moved to the city forty-two years ago. I was drawn to New York, like many, by the energy and complexity of the city itself, and more specifically, the rich and endless theater found on its streets. While the array of cultural offerings has been a source of nourishment and pleasure, it is the streetlife that keeps me as excited as my first weeks here. What I love about New York is not what I know about the city, but how much I don't know. You cannot exhaust it as a subject, and from the start, I have made the city my primary interest and subject as a photographer. I always go out with a camera and am often mistaken as a tourist because of it. I take that as a compliment, given few can match the exalted state of excitement and awareness that a tourist experiences on a visit. When the Coronavirus hit and the staggered shutdown of the city went from a talked about possibility to a reality, I found myself inside my apartment looking out at the street below. At first, I made short trips to get necessities, then later added walks through Central Park, and now through the streets of Manhattan. If you think of a photograph as a piece of theater, with a stage set, lighting, cast, and choreography, the new version of the streetlife of New York is an eerie and fascinating show. The set and lighting is much the same, but the cast and choreography have wildly changed. Wandering through Midtown is like walking through an amusement park in the off-season. You experience the present colored by what you know it to be in season. -
2020-04-24Streets and Avenues / New York City (XVII)
After college, and a year of vagabonding through Central and South America, I moved to the city forty-two years ago. I was drawn to New York, like many, by the energy and complexity of the city itself, and more specifically, the rich and endless theater found on its streets. While the array of cultural offerings has been a source of nourishment and pleasure, it is the streetlife that keeps me as excited as my first weeks here. What I love about New York is not what I know about the city, but how much I don't know. You cannot exhaust it as a subject, and from the start, I have made the city my primary interest and subject as a photographer. I always go out with a camera and am often mistaken as a tourist because of it. I take that as a compliment, given few can match the exalted state of excitement and awareness that a tourist experiences on a visit. When the Coronavirus hit and the staggered shutdown of the city went from a talked about possibility to a reality, I found myself inside my apartment looking out at the street below. At first, I made short trips to get necessities, then later added walks through Central Park, and now through the streets of Manhattan. If you think of a photograph as a piece of theater, with a stage set, lighting, cast, and choreography, the new version of the streetlife of New York is an eerie and fascinating show. The set and lighting is much the same, but the cast and choreography have wildly changed. Wandering through Midtown is like walking through an amusement park in the off-season. You experience the present colored by what you know it to be in season. -
2020-04-24Streets and Avenues / New York City (XVI)
After college, and a year of vagabonding through Central and South America, I moved to the city forty-two years ago. I was drawn to New York, like many, by the energy and complexity of the city itself, and more specifically, the rich and endless theater found on its streets. While the array of cultural offerings has been a source of nourishment and pleasure, it is the streetlife that keeps me as excited as my first weeks here. What I love about New York is not what I know about the city, but how much I don't know. You cannot exhaust it as a subject, and from the start, I have made the city my primary interest and subject as a photographer. I always go out with a camera and am often mistaken as a tourist because of it. I take that as a compliment, given few can match the exalted state of excitement and awareness that a tourist experiences on a visit. When the Coronavirus hit and the staggered shutdown of the city went from a talked about possibility to a reality, I found myself inside my apartment looking out at the street below. At first, I made short trips to get necessities, then later added walks through Central Park, and now through the streets of Manhattan. If you think of a photograph as a piece of theater, with a stage set, lighting, cast, and choreography, the new version of the streetlife of New York is an eerie and fascinating show. The set and lighting is much the same, but the cast and choreography have wildly changed. Wandering through Midtown is like walking through an amusement park in the off-season. You experience the present colored by what you know it to be in season. -
2020-04-27Window Series #13
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #12
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #11
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #10
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #9
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #8
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #7
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #6
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #5
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days. -
2020-04-27Window Series #3
In mid-march my school transitioned to virtual classes and sent everyone home for the semester. I've mostly been at home in Manhattan since then; the last time I rode the subway, previously a daily occurrence, was over six weeks ago now. At home and in the neighborhood nearby since then, I feel as though I can look out the window onto a previous version of myself that could not have anticipated any of this. I also feel as though I look at myself now through a window, because after over a month, this all still feels fake in a way. It’s as though time has been suspended and I’m watching myself filling that time that “doesn’t count.” There is a numbness that comes with not being able to do any of what we’re used to and not being able to see people who we thought nothing of seeing every day in the past. The window analogy is both a way of conceptualizing but also deliberately engaging in that numbness and removing oneself from the reality of the situation, perhaps on both a personal and global level. It’s also a way of rebuilding the wall that has been breached by collision of home with the spaces that are normally outside of it, like work and school, and are now part of the same physical setting, albeit digitally. This has made me think a lot about windows, which are everywhere in New York, and so I started to take pictures of windows in buildings I passed while going for walks. The windows themselves all look similar; despite differences in architectural style, they are all in essence the same glass barrier between inside and outside and public and private. It’s not something specific to life in a pandemic, but during this time it is especially relevant because for people staying mostly at home, our windows are potentially the only glimpse of the outside that we’ll see in a day. They divide our former lives and everything that we’d normally be doing outside of home from our current lives that have suspended many of those activities and digitized others. It’s easier to think about these private separate lives going on behind the windows I pass when there are fewer people out on the street. Normally the act of passing people as I walk is more engaging than what I can’t see in the closed-off apartment buildings, but now there is not a lot going on in the streets. It’s interesting to think I’m probably closer in distance to people behind the walls of the ground floors of buildings than the people I can see on the street, especially on the less busy streets that are particularly empty these days.