Today the sun was out and it was almost warm. The pictures I took were in the shade of buildings, in this case the Brooklyn Public Library, with sun bouncing off the light paving in front of it, to produce a perfectly even light.
She was brought up on a Kibbutz, still lives in Israel on a Kibbutz, but a different one. She is visiting Brooklyn and will stay as long as she is allowed by her visa. I asked her if she would have to return to Israel to do national service. She said yes. "Meanwhile I have my sister's army jacket to keep me warm."
She was delighted when Caroline asked her if I could photograph her. Yet she was modest and a little shy.
They were sitting in the farthest and darkest corner of Park Slope's al di là Trattoria. I had my back to them, but Caroline said I should photograph them. As they rose to leave she was up and asking them. I saw their strikingly pale and unblemished complexions, one in a hood and the other bare-headed, but wrapped several times in a scarf, like an inflatable ring worn by those in the water who cannot swim. They stood outside against the window of the restaurant lit by the veiled winter sun of the late afternoon.
Caroline spotted this young man strolling through the park and was struck by his leisurely manner compared to the fathers (mostly alone) pushing one, two and sometimes three children in a frenzy of rush and disorder.
I had been stuck with an 87 year old with many war stories to tell. He relived for me the terrifying image of standing look out on the deck of a merchant vessel bound for Archangel for two hour watches with the temperature at minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit waiting to be torpedoed by a U-boat. "You'd last less than five minutes in those waters."
I caught up with them and made my excuses . "You've got to listen to stories like that, haven't you," the youth said, "You can't just walk away and say you've got an appointment."
We were looking for a background and my subject said, "What about the red wood we just past."
She has a rare look, but it was also the coral necklace and embroidered flower that made this young woman special to photograph. This was a quiet, unfamiliar moment at Provini, not often does a waitress there have the time to sit down. I noticed her crossed hands in repose and her facing out from the bar. Fortified by coffee and prosciutto panini I got to my feet and took the picture.
Couple number three. Narrowly missing them as we charged down 7th Avenue in Park Slope, hauled along by our dog on the scent of another, the man thought Caroline was an actress acquaintance of his. She wasn't, but they agreed to a picture, minding rather that I squeezed them into a corner of the entrance to a building to remove their faces from the direct sunlight. "There?" he protested, "That's rather ugly isn't it?"," pointing to the door.
Tano Bar Saturday brunch. One superb waiter not able to cope with the unexpected crowd calls proprietress for help but first she must feed her children and children's friends. Within two minutes she had her sleeves rolled up, apron on, clearing tables and taking orders. Lovely place and v. tasty sandwiches.
The New York Review of Books published this photograph in their December 23, 2010 issue. The article is a review by Joyce Carol Oates of Sunset Park by Paul Auster.
This was the first photograph I took in Brooklyn. It was 1986 and taken for The Times in London. Little did I know that nearly twenty-five years later I would spend so much time in Brooklyn photographing. Twenty years went by before I set foot in the place again and then only for a day. It is also the only photograph I have taken of a well-known person in Brooklyn.
Paul Auster lived in one of those brownstone streets in Park Slope that lead up to Prospect Park, where the houses have steep steps up to mahogany doors ten feet high and thick enough to stop a bullet. He worked in a tiny apartment in a block right on the park - too dull and too small for photographs, but I knew we just had time to do something in the park before it got dark.
As we approached the lights at 8th Avenue and 9th Street in Park Slope, a man weaved around behind our car and appeared beside us. I lowered the window and said I would like to take his photograph. With that he took out a cigarette from the pack he was holding. Caroline likes to smoke once in a while so I took it for her."Do you want a light too?" he asked."No," Caroline said, "I'm going to keep it for later, thank you.""What I actually wanted was to take your picture." I said as the light turned green and I had to move. "I'll pull up over there," He followed us.I took the photograph and he said he had lived in Brooklyn all his life. I then asked him what he did and he replied, "I live, in Brooklyn." I don't think he was hard of hearing, just his way of not wanting to tell me anything.
Two regulars at Dizzy's, the tiptop diner in Park Slope. And then on their way to the park to read the paper.
This is a waitress at Dizzy's, a very good diner in Park Slope, Brooklyn, NY. She reveals all at once patience, helpfulness and long-suffering.
Thank you, Heather, for once again steering me in the right direction, and Happy Birthday! I hope you spent it in as romantic surroundings as Café Regular in Park Slope, Brooklyn.
On a drizzling Saturday afternoon we entered this tiny place and found ourselves the only customers. The waitress was reading a book at one of the four or five tables but immediately rose to her feet and ducked under the counter through a hole in it. The flap could not be raised as a show case of pastries was on top of it. The waitress said nothing, just waited for us to order and then quickly produced our coffee and tea.
People soon came in and either perched on the narrow bench or ordered something to take with them. I particularly loved the window because it was misted up. You could not see the cars and the not-quite-6th-Street-houses outside. We sat and dreamed.
Today the sun was out and it was almost warm. The pictures I took were in the shade of buildings, in this case the Brooklyn Public Library, with sun bouncing off the light paving in front of it, to produce a perfectly even light. 
