Renowned Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama is in Louis Vuitton’s window at Fifth Avenue and 57th Street. She looks real, though her hair purposely doesn’t. (Madame Tussaud’s could learn a few things from this tableau.) Kusama’s currently having a retrospective at the Whitney, and it’s sponsored by a luggage maker with the initials “LV.”
The temperatures are in the seventies. Fashion-wise, that means wool coats for some and flip flops for others, or a combination of both on the same person. I’m not ready to naked toes (even my own) on the street until May.
Wow, too much to take in. Any moment, Peter Fonda is going to slide into the image and help the woman turn her bad trip into something beautiful. And everyone else will get safely home on their preferred form of transportation.
Everyone in NY is always schlepping something.
I can’t take my eyes or hands off these bitter melons. (They feel a little rubbery.) That’s the extent of my curiosity, though, because the taste is described so bitter it’s barely tolerable. Also known as karela (in Hindi) and paria (in Filipino), the vegetable is used in traditional and natural medicine to treat diabetes.
The sprinkle-covered cone succumbs to the magnetic pull of the be-denimed man’s mouth as he prepares to hand over cash to the driver. A little strange, I’d say, but yesterday, with temperatures in the 90′s, wasn’t normal.
A good photographer knows what will happen when the shutter is snapped. For the rest of us, there’s more mystery involved. I’m still trying to figure out what is going on in this picture. People are having coffee at a counter; that’s about all I know.
Rarely seen, often talked about, almost never captured on film, the midtown yeti (also called the Manhattan sasquatch) is an urban legend. I’m honored to have taken this picture on a recent rainy day. Don’t be surprised if someone pays me big bucks and I disappear on a fancy vacation for a few days.
Lunchers didn’t notice who was standing next to them! He may be a little diminutive for a Vegas Elvis, but the guy was sporting the requisite white jumpsuit, black wig, and sunglasses. The anniversary of Elvis’ passing, August 16, went by with nary a media mention, though I think I heard the Viva Viagra song/commercial on TV within the past couple weeks.
That’s all there was, a single glove. People on the crowded sidewalk were careful to walk around it.
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