The night of the floods in Buenos Aires, February 2010.
This is a photo from the summer. We live on a pretty lively street corner. I’m amazed at how fearlessly boys play soccer in the streets with the traffic.
This was shot for a series called Soccer On Holiday for the June issue of Norman Einstein’s Magazine.
Along with the many mechanics of my neighborhood, we have a plethora of rusting cars all over the streets. It is one of the reasons why I moved into this neighborhood. I have a thing for rusting cars. These three cars sat at the end of my street for the first month I was there, missing seats and innards but looking as pretty as could be. And then one day all three of them simply vanished.
The city is mysterious like that.
We had the ultimate find the other night, a restaurant just two blocks from our apartment! It is only open on the weekends, so that could possibly explain why I’ve never noticed it before. It’s called Il Vero Mangiare, and when you walk in one of the sons (family-owned) is standing at a station by the door, making pasta.
What’s even more incredible is that this restaurant is actually in this other photo from the blackouts. It’s the corner storefront directly to the right of the trashfires in the intersection.
I love this photo for so many reasons. Mostly because of the dog. Secondly, because it was taken in such darkness, and you know how much I love night photography. Third, it has both my roommates in it. And fourth, inside that rusted out shell of an automobile on the right lives a man who drives me crazy.
More on this car-shelter later, hopefully. But I feel like I have to be careful about taking photos of it–and the man who resides inside.
I don’t know how much I’ve told you about my neighborhood but it is, for the most part, chill. I live by a large, walled cemetery (photos to come, you know it!) in the middle of a netherworld consisting of solely auto-body shops and their suppliers. All of the businesses shut down from about 2-4 pm. It was a very welcome change from when I first lived downtown and life was always littered with street musicians, drunks, and traffic.
That said, it can be noisy in a different way. Next door, they have been constructing…something…forever. Huge trucks will pull in carrying nothing but sections of metal pipes. They will throw each bundle of pipes down to unload the truck, making a terrific racket in the wee hours of the morning. Then, once the pipes are unloaded, they’ll move each bunch individually to another pile. Because there are so many repair shops, I constantly hear incredibly noisy two-stroke motorcycles tearing down the street as the mechanics test them out. And there is one dude in a caramel-colored shirt who seems to be attempting to build the loudest motorcycle ever. I alternately love and hate him.
There is also random noise like this. I woke up one morning and it sounded like someone was right outside my window, hurling a metal beam repeatedly against the curb. That’s the way you think when it’s early and you feel like the world is just trying to torture you. Usually I try to ignore things, but I had to see what was going on.
Yep–there was a man right outside my window, hurling a metal beam repeatedly against the curb.
When I first moved into this house, there was this big trash pile on the corner filled with building supplies. The trash collectors come EVERY NIGHT to pick things up, but they ignored the pile for about two weeks. Then one day it vanished. I had this idea to take a picture of my corner every day. Some anthropological studies are based solely on what people throw out.
Did you know that in Canada women can go about topless, same as men? I wonder how many months out of the year it is warm enough to do that.
Next to the verduleria (vegetable stand) near my house, there is this abandoned market. One side is open where there is a snack bar. Empty stands line the perimeter of the big room, and everything is fading and peeling and withering away. Imagine my surprise when I went to buy some vegetables the other day and standing behind the central stand was a butcher in his white apron and cap, like he had always been there. He had two cuts of meat in the case in front of him.
I went home to get my tripod because the light was very low and came back to shoot inside. There were some sanitation workers in back playing cards. I was even more surprised when a guy came in to buy meat. Where did this butcher come from? Why have I never seen him before? It was all very strange.