A New York Lock-Down Visual Diary

Photographs by Peter Turnley

Visual Diary Entry 57 — May 30, 2020

Diary Entry 57 — May 30, 2020

I wake up in Paris, but as I watch as the whole world is watching, as protests erupt over racism and police brutality in the United States, my heart is in many ways back in America.

This morning, I figuratively kneel non—violently in front of the American flag in protest. This is not only my right—but it is an act of profound patriotism because I care deeply about my country of origin that can be so beautiful if and when the country and all of its people wake up to the realization that the thing one could truly be proud of, would be a nation where every person is judged only by the content of their character. People of color, African—Americans, Latinos, Women, Minorities and people whose parents were born outside of the United States have been in numbers much larger than what their communities represent as a percentage of the US population—have been the front line healthcare and essential workers that have saved our lives during this Covid-Crisis.

They have been saving our lives for decades as a majority of troops in our military service and the backbone of our working economy. Along with applauding at 7pm this evening as we do each night in thanks and gratitude—how about if we show true gratitude and vote in November for change—and stand up for a society where all children have healthcare and good education as a right not a privilege.

Most of the world shakes it's head when it looks at America right now. They don't do it joyfully because the presence and power of the United States affects everyone. A sincere look at how most of the world feels about the current administration and a country that could elect a man with absolutely no moral compass to power—is one of profound worry, consternation, and despair. Anyone that doesn't realize the unbelievable fragility of this moment—with a country divided between rich and poor, employed and unemployed, and those of privilege and those who merit it, but have been never given access to it—are complicit in the true danger of this moment. The diversity of the United States is its' true reason for pride. Let's all stand up, or kneel, which ever one chooses, and fight for change that has been way too late in coming—but can hopefully give us all something we can be proud of—and save us. Vote! 

With love.

Visual Diary Entry 43 — May 12, 2020

Diary Entry 43 — May 12, 2020

A nation, looking a moment of incertitude, in the eyes. Now after 2 months of lockdown, individuals, a city, a nation, and the world, find themselves in the middle of a moment of great incertitude—2 months and a mountain of emotion, sickness, and death away from anything we knew as "normal" and now, in movement, towards a new reality of grasping for what is known of the routine of our lives—but not knowing how far we will and can go—and knowing we shouldn't and won't likely every go back 2020 BC (before Covid). 

Each night, at the corner of 77th and Lexington at 7pm, the healthcare workers of Lenox Hill Hospital come out and the local residents of the Upper Eastside express to them their gratitude for helping us all survive. Every time I have been present at this moment—the woman seen in this photograph appears to participate—people of the neighborhood tell me her name is Nora. Most often she doesn't want to be photographed, but tonight, she stopped to look me and my camera in the eye for a good while. Certain expressions and people embody the mood of a moment. Tonight the eyes of Nora spoke for all of us—with confused fear and hope for our future—and our health and survival—yet ready to engage in the present, in order to forward in the future. 

With love.

Visual Diary Entry 54 — May 23, 2020

Diary Entry 54 — May 23, 2020

Since March 16, my heart and life have been at the epicenter, New York City, of this world war against Covid-19. It may seem ironic, but there is no other place in the world I'd have wanted to be during this time. There are beautiful people everywhere, and my heart also feels very much at home in Paris and Havana—but there may be no place on earth where the United Nations of spirit, culture, energy ,heart, and life comes together so intensely, and in many ways so beautifully, as New York City. I have kept a diary of this time that I have shared here daily. Everyone reading this has been a form of pen pal for me during this unique time in our lives. We have survived it so far. I know I will never forget the kindness, courage, and humanity of the people of this city that have fought this war and in spite of tremendous losses that will be felt forever—New Yorkers have won this battle—nothing will take them down—ever. With their hearts—the working class of New York has shown the world leadership, valor, and along with profound sadness, and pain, glory. 

I will return to Paris tomorrow. I will be back to New York soon, and this battle is not over—it is not far from over. I will continue this diary from Paris—and will continue it wherever I will be in the months ahead. There have been moments during these past many weeks when I felt very alone—I think we all have—but by sharing with all of you along this journey—I have found great meaning in sharing our common plight, fears, joys, anxiety, and life. I will write soon from Paris with a new chapter, and will return again to New York soon. I send love to all. As we go forward, let's all please, let God, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. And, there is change to be made. Vote. 

Thank you dear New York. With love. 

Visual Diary Entry 53 — May 22, 2020

Diary Entry 53 — May 22, 2020

On this Memorial Day Weekend, as we remember all those that have fought in past wars, we don't have to look far as well, to remember the 96,000 people that have died in the United States alone, and the more than 350,000 people worldwide that have perished in the midst of what has been our current World War. May we also remember, and even try to imagine, what these eyes have seen, as a symbol of all of the healthcare and essential frontlines workers, that have come to battle for us—trying to save lives. They will never be the same after all that their eyes and hearts have seen and felt. It is the working class people of our world that have offered us the only true leadership during this fight. May we learn from them, and follow their direction, in offering us a vision of what can be best about humanity, and giving us a hopeful vision, of what we collectively can be. Like them—we all have a heart. On this Memorial Day, let's truly pay tribute by using ours'—always. God bless.

Visual Diary Entry 55 — May 24, 2020

Diary Entry 55 — May 24, 2020

100, 000 dead Americans from Covid-19, and more than 350.000 dead worldwide. 

Every number of these statistics is a name, a life, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a loved one, a neighbor, a friend, a human life, a heart. 

Visual Diary Entry 56 — May 24, 2020

Diary Entry 56 — May 24, 2020

Going home with a prayer. 

A bit more than a week ago, I stood behind Lincoln Hospital in the Bronx, behind a very busy emergency room entrance with many ambulances. As I was speaking to a nurse named Melissa—a stretcher went by towards an ambulance on the street. Melissa told me she thought it was a Covid-19 patient going home because of the PPE gear the ambulance EMTls were wearing. This was not entirely a happy scene. The patient appeared to be quite troubled and was yelling at the nurses in somewhat confused language. But, just as the patient was put into the back of the ambulance—he put his hands in prayer. 

This moment has been floating in my consciousness for many days now and today, on this Sunday, seems like the right moment to speak of it. We are living in likely the most confused moment of our lifetimes, and possibly the most confused moment in a century. In a matter of less than three months are existence has been turned upside down. Within a culture that loves happy endings—there is none to be had here—certainly not in the present. In the midst of a fight for our lives—what we have to hold onto is love—love of friends, family, lovers, and life, and we hold onto hope based on the magic of life we have seen, experienced, and witnessed, and a compass of values we hold dear for the direction they offer our hearts. 

The man in this photograph was going "home". For the past 45 years I have been a nomad—and find home wherever I am and this notion is connected to my feelings about the people around me. These past years "home" has been much for me in Paris, New York, and Havana. Today I leave for Paris which will hold a place in my heart as a home forever. But as I leave New York, after these past three months of living with the wonderful and courageous New Yorkers' of the 2020 Lockdown—I am so grateful to this city and its people for having offered my heart such a powerful feeling of "home" during this war. 

Where ever I go—I am going "home". And like the man in the photograph, I may go there in this moment, somewhat troubled—but I definitely go there, with a prayer, and with hope, and with love. 

I will be back in New York soon—and it will never leave me as I fly today, and look forward to landing in Paris tomorrow.

God bless! 

Visual Diary Entry 51 — May 21, 2020

Diary Entry 51 — May 21, 2020

A Vigil of Frontline Workers for all of the victims of Covid-19

Last night, at 8pm, hundreds of hospital workers from Lenox Hill Hospital on New York’s Upper Eastside, marched around the hospital with virtual candles, to remember, mourn, grieve, and honor everyone who has died from Covid-19. 

This was a moment when all of these brave, kind, generous, and humane people stood together to think of all of the people they saw in their midst—after all of their efforts to save them—succumb to this invisible enemy that has attacked the world these past months. There were prayers, tears, hugs, and people called out the names of people they knew, who have died. 

I overheard a nurse say to a friend and colleague— “we’ve been so much in the middle of this fight—we have never had a chance to grieve ourselves”. 

We have all been in the middle of a World War. Oh, how I wish, that anyone who downplays the severity of this battle—could only be obliged to see a minute—let alone months of what these frontline workers have seen in the midst of this fight for our lives. 

This vigil reminded me of a scene I had seen at a funeral home in Brooklyn in April. As I walked into this funeral home, there was a lone white casket in the back of a hearse waiting to be taken to burial. 

I was told it was the casket of a victim of coronavirus. This lone moment, has symbolized for my mind the stark reality of what all of the statistics I have read out each day stand for.

For now—anyone reading this—and myself—we are the lucky ones. We have survived so far. But, maybe going forward, we may each honor this good fortune by not only earning our survival in trying to make the most of our opportunity to live, each and every day—but we may also honor the dead, and the all of the heroic frontline workers everywhere in the world to whom in part we all owe our survival—by trying to be just a bit as kind, brave, generous, decent, and humble—as they are. 

God bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 50 — May 19, 2020

Diary Entry 50 — May 19, 2020

We all have moments that stay with us, that haunt us. 

During the course of these past two months—I have come across several moments that will stay with me, embedded deep inside my consciousness—probably forever—and some will likely trouble my sleep, like I felt as I woke up this morning. 

Some of these moments I photographed, some I didn't, and some I did, and will decide later if and when I want to show them. Why would I speak of these things? Is it to share gratuitously uncomfortable moments. I think not. At this moment—as the springtime hits the world—and in so many places there is a notion of "opening" up—and more importantly, as people begin to let their guard down and forget to wear a mask, or neglect social distancing—it is for me, important to remember (I will never be able to forget)—the war we have been involved in has been massive, worldwide, and mortally wounding—to more in a short period of time—than any war in any of our lifetimes. 

On one of the first days, i went out to photograph—it was early, 7am, on a Saturday morning, and as I walked up Broadway on the Upper Westside, there was only one soul in sight. It was a man, standing in the middle of this normally very busy avenue, alone, with a blanket over his body—clearly homeless, and looking extremely cold, and again—very alone. I approached him, and looked him in the eye and motioned to my camera rather than speak—and expected there likely to be no answer as the man had what we called the 1000 yard stare—looking off into the distance. As I prepared to make a photograph, the gentleman said in the most clear and direct english, "please do not take my photograph—I do not want to be seen this way". I did not make that photograph, but the photograph in my mind, that was never made—will stay with me for a lifetime, and still shakes my existence. 

Last weekend, standing behind Lincoln Hospital—a group of ambulance EMT's and hospital nurses brought a man out on a stretcher towards an ambulance. A nurse standing beside me told me she imagined it was a covid patient because of the way the nurses were dressed in protective gear. As he was wheeled by, he was screaming, not at me, but in what seemed like a very confused mental state that had nothing to do with my presence, and as his body was put inside the stretcher, when one could not see his face, his hands were in the position of a prayer. I did make that photograph—but will wait to decide if I ever show it. His screams, stay with me, and will always trouble me. There didn't seem to be any clear joy in his going—home. 

Several weeks ago—I was asked by a very good friend of Anthony "Tony" Thomas, Mike Galloway, if I could come and photograph a send off ceremony with a large number of people of New York's ambulance service community who were going to pay tribute by sending Tony to burial with the honor that he so deserved after his lifetime of incredibly human, brave, and generous service as a legendary paramedic. When we arrived at the funeral home that morning, the assistant director took us in to the room where Tony's casket lay. The first two in the room were Mike and I. Tony's casket was alone in this room, where there were only two lights, and a crucifix on the wall behind where he lay. Tony was sent home that day with the love he deserved from so many of his friends and family and colleagues that felt such emotion for him and for what his wonderful life had stood for. 

Tony was put to rest that day. May he always rest in peace. The image I saw that day in that viewing room, will not rest in peace in my mind. It spoke to be of the gravity of this moment—that is not over—far from over—and it will haunt me for a long time. 

These are not bad things. There are moments of the human condition that we must accept—that are as much a part of life, as the mundane daily life moments of much of our life—and the incredible happy and joyful moments that we hope for as often as possible. 

I will never regret looking life in the eye. And I will continue to always do so, as long as I can, with love. 

Visual Diary Entry 52 — May 22, 2020

Diary Entry 52 — May 22, 2020

Who saved our lives these past few months? Will we look the truth in the eye? 

There has been a world of brave and courageous and kind people these past two months that have put their lives on the line to save ours. But will we look as a society the truth in the eye? In numbers much, much greater than what their communities represent as a percentage of the population of the U.S., the front line, essential workers of America have been working class people of color, African—American, Latino, Women, minorities, and people whose parents were not born in the United States. These same populations have never including up until now—been given their fare share of the American pie. They have also, as a result of the economic realities of access to healthcare, and good housing, and poverty, been infinitely more vulnerable to the tragedy of death from this virus. Will be simply say thank you with applause and cheers at 7pm, or will be as a society actively work, at the ballot box, to elect leaders that will fight for a more equal distribution of wealth, and fight to offer healthcare and good public education as a right for all, and not a privilege? Will be stand back and do nothing when innocent young men are shot in the back because of the color of their skin. Or, rather than criticize the right to protest, will be take a kneel ourselves in support of change and in the fight for a society of righteous values that truly judges all people only by the basis of the content of their character. Going forward—simply banging on pots and pans at 7pm will not be enough. If we truly believe ourselves to be honorable and just, we will all get involved in our own front line work, to make this society a more equal, fair, righteous, and beautiful society. I know where I will start and that will be with a vote for change in November. And, I hope to fight for the rest of my life with more than just claps of thanks—but with my vote—and an effort at every chance—to fight for the people I know have helped save my life, and all of our lives, during only World War we have all ever known. Thank you and God Bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 49 — May 17, 2020

Diary Entry 49 — May 17, 2020

Coney Island, New York at the time of Coronavirus.

There are few things more real and essentially New York, then Coney Island. Yesterday, on a beautiful spring day, I went there, and after now more than two months of virus, lockdown, worry, fear, sickness, and death, on this day—it felt like in many ways, in a place where people could safely social distance from each other—the masks both literally and figuratively came off. There is something so cathartic about being near water—and particularly expanses of water with endless horizon which allows the mind to dream, feel free, and an ocean allows us to know a sense of perspective—our world is large—very large—endless, and it has known time—a long time, and the flow of waves, unlike us for the past two months, can never be confined, nor contained. 

The people that visit Coney Island—even more so when there is no tourism in this country at this moment—are also essentially New York. These are not the more than 450,000 New Yorkers with the means to flee to the Hamptons, Berkshires, Upstate, or the affluent suburbs of New Jersey. The New Yorkers of Coney Island on a May 16 of this pandemic have sheltered in place in Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and yesterday was for most—the first time outside, next to the ocean, and in the air—the very fresh air. 

Lee and Robin, a couple from Queens, have both been taking care of family members and haven’t been able to spend much time together these past two months. I saw them hugging in a beautiful embrace, with their faces raised towards the sun—in a moment of true beauty of being reunited. Myrtle, from Brooklyn, sat alone looking at the ocean in peace and with dignity. She has lost her apartment during this crisis and is now living in a shelter, and told me, “hopefully things will come through soon”. George and Regina, both born in Haiti, have known each other for a long time—but their romance is young, and they sat, both masked, clearly joyful to be outside, and together. Josh and Alysa, both from the Bronx, had been to Coney Island only once before, and they told me that during this crisis, they realized more than ever before, “every moment more valuable”. 

Daniel, 20 and Melissa, 18, sat under a pier, looking at the ocean with their arms wrapped around each other in a long, soulful hug of togetherness. Their story reminded me of why it is so important to speak to people and let them tell you their story—because otherwise we would never know in the midst of daily life, the novel of life, so many lives quietly reflect. They met for the first time only shortly before the quarantine began. They have not seen each other in person since the beginning of the crisis. This was not only their first time to Coney Island together, but, “this is technically our first date! We haven’t been able to see each other. Melissa lives in Brooklyn and I live in the Bronx. Wow—finally!”.  Both were born in the US from parents who have immigrated from Mexico. My heart sang to see them together, and I find myself now in tears as I write this—thinking of the beauty of their young, powerful and believing romance. Nothing—not even “Rona”, could stop this young love from blossoming. 

Dimitri from Russia and Anastasia from the Ukraine, walked hand in hand along the water front. Dayneanda sat with her dogs, Asher and Archie, enjoying a moment of peace together. Johnathan, from Brooklyn, is a veteran and comes every day with a US flag to the pier and stays most days all day, from early morning. “I love this country. We’re in a crisis now—we need some hope. We have to be more careful of each other and we need to appreciate each other more”. Jackie and Edgar, from Queens, have been friends for a decade. “we’re getting some air today. Seeing everyone out makes thing seem normal—but they are not. It has been scary seeing New York as a ghost town. Luis and Alexandra, both from Ecuador, emerged from a bath in the ocean holding hands. One knew that the Atlantic this time of year had to be frigid, but their smiles only spoke of warmth. Tony, an electrician with Egyptian-Sicilian heritage, did push-ups with his friend, Joanna on his back. There was no doubt how strong Tony was feeling finally being in the sun near the sea on this spring day. Simon sat on his motorcycle, a Suzuki Boulevard C50. He told me he grew up in the projects in “Downtown Brooklyn” and that he had lost 4 to 5 friends a week that had died from Covid, during this crisis.

At the end of a long day, I boarded a Q train back to Manhattan. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, and a good friend picked up my camera and made a portrait of me. It was a long, beautiful day.  I wish I knew why I am in tears as I finish this. Maybe it is like the cork coming off my bottle. This has been a long two months. We are still alive. We will continue to wear our masks and keep our social with each other. But—we have made it this far, and on a spring day, next to the ocean, there was no mask that could keep the light away from my heart. God bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 48 — May 16, 2020

Diary Entry 48 — May 16, 2020

A bus stop in the South Bronx.

I try to always look everything straight in the eye. I wake up this morning and my mind floats with images and thoughts that are somewhat out of focus—but disturbed. I think of images of protestors standing with assault rifles in state capitols like Michigan—the same kinds of weapons that have killed so many children in schools and a president that refers to these people as "good people", and uses provocative language like "liberating" states in the midst of a pandemic that has killed more people than US soldiers in Vietnam and Korea combined. I think of a president who tries to sideline scientists and doctors during an electoral period—when science is the only hope for survival of next 60,000 people predicted to die by the end of June.

I think of all of the heroes I have witnessed doing essential work all over New York these past two months never asking for a word of thanks and only doing what is for them a sense of duty and necessity—and I think of a president who daily demands of everyone gratitude and thanks and when it is not given—harrasses, fires, or demeans his challengers. I think of a person who asked me if masks and tests are free and being distributed to all in a country that has an arsenal of missiles that costs millions of dollars a piece, and a country with the ability to move 100, 000 soldiers in a week to Saudia Arabia in a war buildup—while we are fighting the biggest war of our lives at home without sufficient defense and protection, and the only thing free are the half truths we have received daily from a house that happens to be white. 

I think of all of that, and while still slightly out of focus without my first coffee—I know—that in November—I will be voting with all of my heart to get on a different bus—going a different direction. 

Visual Diary Entry 47 — May 15, 2020

Diary Entry 47 — May 15, 2020

A diary should be full of sincerity. It is a record of feelings and occurrences, stories, moments—not much about facts. This is probably a diary entry I shouldn't write. I should be happy—it is a Friday evening in the spring time, with sun and 78 degrees. But happiness is not what I am feeling tonight. Late this afternoon, I walked around the South Bronx of New York City—one of the worst hit neighborhoods by the Covid crisis of any neighborhood in the world. As I walked around this neighborhood around 149th and 3rd Avenue—almost everyone was wearing a mask—everyone.

I eventually made my way to Lincoln Hospital, again—likely one of the hospitals that has had the most cases of covid-19 in New York City, and many, many deaths. I encountered the woman seen in this photograph—Djera, 59, a nurse originally from Mali. She had stepped out of the hospital for a break, and just before re-entering put on her mask—so full of humidity we could almost not see each other, I asked her how she was doing and she told me in French—"c'est dure! (its tough)". I walked around the hospital to the emergency room entrance and there were at least a dozen ambulances lined up with patients going, and coming. There I met another nurse taking a short break outside—Melissa—a mother of 3. I asked her how she was doing and she told me things had gotten better but she had seen or been involved treating 5 new patients today. I asked her if her life has changed these past two months and she told me, "I take life now more seriously—it has been humbling—I get more in touch with my loved ones—my family. They have all been very worried for me".

Eventually I got in a taxi and returned to the Upper Westside of New York—where I am staying. As I walked down the street towards my apartment—two young—probably 19 or so yr. kids walked down the street in shorts and tee—shirts without masks, and got into a new looking SUV. I couldn't help myself—I said to them as I walked by—"why don't you wear a mask". They looked at me with an air that exuded privilege and said somewhat sarcastically—"we were only walking to our car". Again, I couldn't help myself and said to them—"I'd like you to hang out with me and go to a few of the hospitals I've been to lately and see what it looks like to have someone you care about die from this". I could see their hesitation at a wise crack, and then they thought better of it and I kept walking. 

Anyone who has been a war correspondent knows the totally destabilizing feeling of being overseas and seeing the hardship and suffering of war—and returning to a city like Paris or New York and then hearing people yell at each other over a parking spot. It took me a long time and many returns home to be able to realize that in some ways it wasn't their fault—people live the lives they live and can't have at all times the weight and responsibility of the world on their shoulders. 

But—with each new chapter of this Covid crisis, and with the change in weather and a few months of confinement—we are certainly one way or the other entering a new chapter—I have hoped so much that the middle and upper class of America will recognize that it is the working class of this country that has saved us all these past two months—they have literally save our lives. It has become a trend to clap hands and say thank you each night at 7pm, and on television commercials by every corporation in the world. But—it will remain to be seen—if the privileged population of this country will show true thanks and gratitude—by wearing a mask—and having a true soul searching inner discussion about values and priorities of a nation and the world—and more than anything be very human to everyone around them—while the nurses of the world like Djera—literally have their humanity and identity taken away by a protective mask so full of sweat from work—that they can not see out—and I could not see in. 

God Bless.

Visual Diary Entry 46 — May 14, 2020

Diary Entry 46 — May 14, 2020

Masks for sale, The South Bronx.

Visual Diary Entry 42 — May 10, 2020

Diary Entry 42 — May 10, 2020

The emotion of Mother’s Day, New York City. 

Yesterday was Mother’s Day, but in many ways every day for most of us is Mother’s Day as there is no person on earth that occupies a place in our heart like our mother. My own mother passed six months ago—and this was the first Mother’s Day when I couldn’t either be with her or call her—but I was with her all day yesterday—and she is with me every second of my life. 

I went back to the corner of Lexington and 77th Street next to Lenox Hill Hospital last night. Each night, at 7pm, the healthcare workers from the hospital—all who are risking their lives trying to save Covid-19 patients admitted to the hospital, come out each night to hear the applause and gratitude of the local residents of New York’s Upper Eastside. In the process of photography—there is the temptation, and a great mistake to think that when we have photographed something once—that we have done it—and never to return. I come back and photograph the same themes hundreds of times—because they always change and evolve, like life—and we have never in fact “done it”. 

Human connection and emotion are at the heart of my interest in visual communication. It is the emotion of the human condition that makes my life tick and drives my creative blood flow. 

Last night, on the Mother’s Day of Covid-19, two nurses in particular, Erika and Simi, drew my attention. They were standing next to each other at 7pm, and suddenly a car pulled up, and

four young men jumped out, quickly took out an electric organ and placed it on the street—took out an amplifier, and put it on top of the car, and hooked up a microphone. One of the young men jumped up on top of the car, as another played the organ, and started to sing, “America the Beautiful”. Suddenly, the nurses, Erika, and Simi, and all of the other healthcare workers and local residents put their hands over their hearts. Behind the masked faces of Erika and Simi, as the music played, tears began to flow in their eyes. They put their arms around each other—and it was a moment of deep emotion. When the song was over, and after Erika has wiped her eyes several times of her tears—I spoke to them. 

Erika was born in Sao Palo, Brazil and immigrated to the US 36 years ago and is now an American citizen—and is a traveling nurse and has volunteered to come from Carolina where she lives—to help Covid-19 patients in New York for 6 weeks. Simi is a traveling nurse, from Los Angeles, and has also volunteered to come help Covid-19 patients in NY for many weeks. 

They both told me that their sense of duty had called them—they realized the epicenter of the crisis in the US and the world was in New York City—and they felt needed here. 

Erika is a mother, of two daughters. She told me, “life is like a box of chocolates—when you open it up—you never know what you will get”. Erika and Simi had just met each other on Mother’s Day and had worked together all day long during their shift. Simi told me, “nursing is a big sisterhood”. 

Before they went back inside, they gave each other a big hug. We are all reminded daily during this crisis that challenges our mortal existence, of what means most to us—our survival, our health, and maybe more than anything—the love in our lives for the people and a world that awe care about. 

My mother would have had such admiration and love for Erika, and Simi—she was kind and caring with everyone, but these were her kind of people—hard working, courageous, generous, humble, kind, and full of heart.  

I might have decided to not go to the corner of Lexington and 77th Street last night—thinking I’d already done that before—but then I would have missed the chance of the gift of meeting on this Mother’s Day, Erika and Simi. They embody what is best about us, and what is best of what we can be. There are literally millions of Erika’s and Simi’s in our world each day right now. May they be blessed and be safe and healthy, and may we offer them, as we go forward, more than just thanks—but offer as a society their children and everyone’s children access to health care and good education, as a right, and not a privilege. They certainly have earned it, as have all of the working people of this country and our world—upon whom, we owe our survival. 

God bless and with love. 

Visual Diary Entry 44 — May 12, 2020

Diary Entry 44 — May 12, 2020

A nation, looking a moment of incertitude, in the eyes. Now after 2 months of lockdown, individuals, a city, a nation, and the world, find themselves in the middle of a moment of great incertitude—2 months and a mountain of emotion, sickness, and death away from anything we knew as "normal" and now, in movement, towards a new reality of grasping for what is known of the routine of our lives—but not knowing how far we will and can go—and knowing we shouldn't and won't likely every go back 2020 BC (before Covid). 

Each night, at the corner of 77th and Lexington at 7pm, the healthcare workers of Lenox Hill Hospital come out and the local residents of the Upper Eastside express to them their gratitude for helping us all survive. Every time I have been present at this moment—the woman seen in this photograph appears to participate—people of the neighborhood tell me her name is Nora. Most often she doesn't want to be photographed, but tonight, she stopped to look me and my camera in the eye for a good while. Certain expressions and people embody the mood of a moment. Tonight the eyes of Nora spoke for all of us—with confused fear and hope for our future—and our health and survival—yet ready to engage in the present, in order to forward in the future. 

With love.

Visual Diary Entry 41 — May 9, 2020

Diary Entry 41 — May 9, 2020

On this special day—mother's day—our love and gratitude to women everywhere. Thank you.

Visual Diary Entry 34 — May 2, 2020

Diary Entry 34 — May 2, 2020

I asked Shannone, 26, who works at Lenox Hill Hospital if her life had changed since working with Covid-19 patients and her reply was, “significantly”. 

“It’s one thing to have an impression from the outside, but when you see the severity of the situation—it is something you’d have to see to understand”.

I haven’t see from the inside what Shannon was describing, but looking into her eyes—I could feel that she certainly had!

There are so many Shannone's in our world today—that have had the weight of the world on their shoulders—devoting so much of the their humanity towards trying to help us survive and win this war. Most of them will remain forever nameless, without recognition, often working for relatively little compensation—and for us—their hearts and lives will be changed forever for having seen with their eyes—what most of us will never have to. God bless Shannon. God bless all of the healthcare and essential workers. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 32 — April 30, 2020

Diary Entry 32 — April 30, 2020

Today, a wonderful man was put to rest. Anthony “Tony” Thomas worked as a Paramedic for 36 years. On Easter Sunday, April 12th, he died of Covid-19 related causes. He was a true hero. 

Yesterday afternoon, I received a phone call from Mike Galloway, an EMT who I met almost one month ago when he arrived with his ambulance at Elmhurst Hospital in Queens. I picked up the phone and Mike told me that there would be a service today for Tony, a legendary Paramedic, renown in the ambulance service world in New York City. Mike, who has followed my visual documentation of the Covid-19 crisis these past weeks, asked if I would like to come and photograph a service at the funeral home. He told me that a large number of ambulance workers from all over New York would be there with their ambulances, and that they would send off Tony on his way to burial with a salute. I considered this invitation a tremendous honor and of course said I would be there. 

I took a taxi to the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn, to the McLaughlin and Sons Funeral Home. When I arrived, I met Mike, and before the 10am departure of Tony’s hearse taking him for burial-a line of ambulances and EMT’s and Paramedics a few blocks long showed up in front of the funeral home. 

The EMT’s and Paramedics requested that they be able to be pallbearers for Tony-all dressed in their best ceremonial suits. For about an hour-I was honored to be part of this group-and as the pallbearers waited to take Tony’s casket outside the hearse-I heard everyone speak of Tony. I heard voices say, “he was a kind and gentle man”, “Tony has touched a lot of people’s live”, “He’s a legend”, “He loved his job-that was his life-everyone loved him”, “he was a master instructor”, “he taught nurses and doctors”, “he was the salt of the earth”. 

Tony’s funeral brought home in the most direct way I have witnessed yet-the treacherous impact of this invisible enemy that has created the first World War of my lifetime. One of the Paramedics, April, said to me, “It’s terrifying. You never know. You pray every day you and your friends don’t get sick and die. People aren’t taking it serious enough.”

One of the funeral directors told me there were several other viewings at the funeral home taking place of other victims of Covid-19 at the same time as Tony’s ceremony. 

Before Tony’s friends-all very experienced EMT’s and Paramedics with much experience working with stretchers and ambulances- took his casket out to the hearse-they discussed many times many times how they would carry Tony’s casket, and all knew, that when they did so-they would put their hand over their heart. 

When Tony’s casket was taken outside-there was a line as far as my eyes could see down the block of other ambulance workers saluting Tony and sending him off to rest in peace at a cemetery in New Jersey. There is no doubt that Tony’s death is an example of the tragedy that the world is witnessing with this virus. There is no way to downplay that. He became part of a statistic of more American deaths in less than two months-killed by this virus, than all of the US soldiers killed during the 10 years of the Vietnam War. Today-though-what I saw much more than tears-was a tremendous sense of honor-for a hero-and honor among his colleagues and friends that wake up each day, and do their incredibly brave and difficult work-asking for now recognition while they do it-to help humanity to be healthy-to survive health difficulties and accidents-so that we can all have the best possible health, for life.  

Today I saw an angel depart for burial-surrounded by so many other angels. And we can all be so grateful-that they are always there for us-watching over our lives-with honor-and heart. 

 I didn’t know Tony-but after today-I feel like I actually did. Rest in peace Tony. God bless.

With love. 

Visual Diary Entry 39 — May 7, 2020

Diary Entry 39 — May 7, 2020

Father is coming home! 

After almost 5 weeks in the hospital with Covid-19, and at least 2 of those weeks on a ventilator, the 83 fathers of Joel and Moshe, was discharged last night from Lenox Hill Hospital, and he went home! 

After now nearly two months of witnessing the humanity of New York City confront the realities of a world war with covid-19 — what I saw last night was one of the most beautiful moments I’ve encountered.

After the 7pm nightly applause and cheering of local residents thanking the healthcare workers of Lenox Hill hospital, I noticed two brothers waiting outside the door of the emergency room. I approached them and introduced myself and ask if they were waiting for someone to leave the hospital. They told me that they were waiting for their father, a father of 9 children, of a Brooklyn family, to be discharged as soon as an ambulance could arrive to take him home. Joel and Moshe, the brothers, told me that they had not seen their father in almost 5 weeks. They explained as well that their father didn’t want a lot of attention drawn to himself—thinking of all of the people that have not been and are not so fortunate in their recovery from Covid—but they understood my interest in photographing the beauty of this moment and it would be fine if I stayed with them to photograph this important occasion.  

I asked Joel if this was the happiest day of his life—and he raised his arms and hands towards the sky and said—“we know God is watching over us every step of the way. He is very weak—we will have to see. The family is waiting at home to see him”. 

We waited for quite over an hour and Joel explained to me there was a delay in the ambulance arriving to take their father home. I explained that I lived nearby and asked if he could text me when his father was going to leave the hospital. 

 While I ate my dinner—a text came over my phone from Joel, “the ambulance just arrived”. I put down my plate of dinner and grabbed my mask and coat and camera and raced as fast as I could back to the hospital. Just as I arrived, Joel and Moshe were waiting outside the emergency room doors of the hospital, and the doors opened, and two EMT’s brought out a stretcher with their father. He was put in the back of an ambulance—with Joel and Moshe looking on, and the doors closed, and Joel ran by me to his car. I thanked him for allowing me to share in this beautiful moment and Joel nodded that he was happy I’d been there. 

After so many moments during these past many weeks of fear, danger, anxiety, hardship, and tragedy—last night, at least for a moment—I witnessed victory for a family. Their victory felt in part, like a victory for all of us. It may be long—but with courage, love, grace and determination—we will win this war. And I too, thanks God, for watching over us and giving us the strength, we will need. 

With love. 

Visual Diary Entry 40 — May 9, 2020

Diary Entry 40 — May 9, 2020

Everything seems turned upside down. 

I have been keeping this diary now for almost two months, and during this time, there have been almost 80,000 people that have died from Covid-19 in the United States, and almost 4 million in the world. Each day is a roller coaster—ups, and downs, steady, ups, some days are just straight out downs. One relies on instinct, values we are brought up with, the example of others, and attempts at mind over matter to find hope, courage, and determination—and to fight often natural waves of fear, anxiety, sadness, despair, and anger. When I go outside and wonder—every day I encounter the working class people of New York that so heroically and humbly offer guidance and light with the essential work they do to help us survive. I meet neighbors I've never spoken to before that share kindness and vulnerability and help make me feel I am not alone.

Throughout all of this crisis—I literally can not stomach to see or listen to the man in the White House as his every word, gesture, expression of body language, and presence are all simply the opposite of all I consider decent and human. It is not simply that I disagree with him, always—but quite literally, he is almost the worse and most sorry example of a caricature of a lousy divisive human being I could imagine or invent. And with that—with all else that our world is confronting in this moment—my sense of well being and equilibrium is turned upside down and off balance realizing how many people actually express not just support—but engaged adulation of this man. 

So, in all of this—can one be hopeful? Most definitely. The United Nations of humanity of what is New York offers my compass eternal hope and optimism each day. The mosaic of humanity of this city is magnificent—and strong—and the city and its' people and the example they offer constantly in the midst of challenge—gets in my life blood—and drives me forward—and if I don't have enough myself—I borrow courage and determination from the people of New York—again—most often working people—that show me the way. 

This is a ramble—and maybe that is the most sincere expression of this moment—up and down, steady, up, up, and some times down. But—like the people of New York—I may some times get down—but until the day I literally can't anymore—I will always get up again. Thank you. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 45 — May 13, 2020

Diary Entry 45 — May 13, 2020

A Coronavirus Kiss! 

There is something tremendously reassuring in seeing a young couple lean towards each other and offer themselves a kiss, on a beautiful sunny day in the early spring time—even wearing masks—the ubiquitous symbol of this moment.

I was speaking to a friend last night outside of Lenox Hill Hospital—and suddenly to my left—just outside a subway entrance
—I noticed this tender, masked embrace. 

There is nothing more powerful in our existence than love—romantic love, love for family and friends, and love of life—and it in our continuing to embrace it—that we can be sure that we will eventually win this world war against our invisible enemy.

And, if we lose sight of love in our lives—we will certainly be lost. God bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 37 — May 7, 2020

Diary Entry 37 — May 7, 2020

The power of courage and decency!

May we as a society remember always—who are the people stepping up during this moment of war—to help us all survive—health care workers, postal workers, delivery men and women, people working at cash registers of grocery stores, and all essential workers. Who are the people that that have offered true leadership in this country and showed us all the best part of ourselves. Anyone in a major city like New York—which has been the epicenter of this crisis—who looks this moment in the eye—will realize that the people that have risked their life to help us all survive are in large percentage and numbers—people of color, minorities, women and people that were not born in the United States. This is not to take anything away from people of all backgrounds that have certainly been heroic during these times. But, I will tell you, as I have been out almost every day of this crisis in New York City—when i look at the realities of courage and bravery of this moment—I have seen working class people—demonstrate to all of us—how wonderful as humans we can be. I hope in all ways—we will all never forget, and do more for them in the future, than simply say thanks. 

Visual Diary Entry 36 — May 3, 2020

Diary Entry 36 — May 3, 2020

One of the things that is so beautiful and powerful about a photograph is that allows the viewer, even obliges the viewer, sometimes, to see realities that statistics often don’t explain very clearly. 

For the past several nights, I have been present outside Lenox Hill Hospital on New York’s Upper Eastside, at 7pm, when many of the hospitals healthcare workers who have been risking their lives daily helping patients fight this war against Covid-19 come outside the hospital to receive the applause and thanks from people of the neighborhood. 

In this small nutshell of as moment, on one street corner of New York City, 77thand Lexington, there is an opportunity for America to examine itself. The Upper Eastside of New York, according to NY Furman Center is probably one of the least diverse neighborhoods of the United States.  “In 2017, there were about 214,219 people in Upper East Side, 10.7% of the population identified as Asian in 2017, 1.4% identified as black, 10.8% identified as Hispanic, and 74.6% identified as white. Median household income in 2017 was $133,853, about 116% more than citywide median household income ($62,040). The poverty rate in Upper East Side was 6.1% in 2017 compared to 17.9% citywide.”

In many ways-just like expressing support for the troops has become the easiest form of apparent demonstration of patriotism-whether one would ever allow one’s own children to go and serve or not-it is quickly becoming part of our sense doing right by expressing thanks to our healthcare workers. But, as we go forward, and really take a look at our society-in a country where there is incredible disparity of wealth, with less than 50% of the population owning a stock, and where minorities and people of color represent a small percentage of the upper class-will we take a good look at who are these incredibly brave and courageous people risking their lives saving all of us-without ever any consideration for the background, or origin of the person they are treating. 

Last night-as I photographed a group of ICU nurses from Lenox Hill-spontaneously everyone put up a fist in a power sign. I asked Sean, 30, one of the ICU nurses what that symbolized for him and he replied, “There is strength in diversity and unity. We are a team and have to stay together. “

This says it all. We can be a team, and there is beautiful strength and opportunity in our diversity and in unity. As a nation, we owe more than just gratitude for the people who are saving our lives every day. We owe them, and their children, in the true reality of our daily life and economy, Dr. Kings’ dream that each person be judged only by the content of their character. I’m hoping that anyone looking at these photographs will take a good look-and see who are the people that are stepping up at this moment and truly demonstrating content of character in the struggle for our survival. We owe our collective future, more than just thanks-we owe it to these brave, courageous and beautiful human beings-that we all realize as Sean said-“that there is strength in diversity and unity. We are a team and we have to stay together” and our future will be so much more beautiful, when we do. God bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 35 — May 3, 2020

Diary Entry 35 — May 3, 2020

A day of rest. Peter Turnley.

This thing is not over-it may be long from over-and certainly not even close for the health care and essential workers and people suffering now from Covid-19, and our way of life is still very much one day at a time. But, today, on this Sunday, in New York City, a glorious sun came out with 78 degree weather-and I took a few minutes to sit down outside where I stay on the Upper Westside, the first time I've taken my mask off outside in weeks-and let the sun-and time, float over my mind and body-and baby, this feels pretty darn good. Our lives may be changed for a long time-and on both a health and economic front there is still much unknown and hardship ahead. But, my Aunt Margaret, who lived to be 100 years old, once told me that her secret to a long peaceful life was simply believing in a higher power and taking life one day at a time. 

And that is all we can do-and on this glorious day-on this one day at a time-I say hallelujah! I send out love to the world-with the light of life, on this Sunday, with gratitude.

Visual Diary Entry 33 — May 1, 2020

Diary Entry 33 — May 1, 2020

I wake up today and as often happens after witnessing and feeling a story that really moved me, my mind is full of images and thoughts about being present yesterday at the funeral ceremony for Anthony “Tony” Thomas, a legendary paramedic that died of Covid-19 related causes and who was saluted yesterday by the whole New York First Responder community. 
One of the words that came to my mind prominently being around so many Paramedics and EMT’s saying goodbye to Tony yesterday was the word honor. 

I very rarely wear a tie, but when I dressed yesterday morning-it was important for me to honor the life of this hero with the most elegant appearance under the circumstances I could muster. This gesture meant nothing in the grand scheme of things-being only the right thing to do-but it was small thing important to me. But it brings me to a more important discussion. 

The greatest honor of my life has been to meet worldwide. ,most often in daily life, the real heroes of this world-most who go about their day with little recognition-and most often with little compensation-but for whom the most natural thing and the most important thing in the world is to be simply, kind, generous, fair, courageous, and decent. Now these are most often not the people so elevated in importance by our pop and television culture-but there are wonderful exceptions like Mandela, Dr. King, and others. The people I am talking about I meet in the streets of New York, Paris, Cuba, and all over the world-and most often no will ever know their name. But, photography has offered me the great honor-to have the chance, in keeping my head up, and my eyes and heart open, to be able to meet them. 

I have also had such a great honor to be surrounded through time, by the example of photographic predecessors like Cartier-Bresson, Boubat, Kertesz, Capa, Smith, Lange, Doisneau, and so many others-that have offered the world a vision of humanity that offers the human compass a sense of direction. And, most importantly, I’ve been surrounded through time, by a community of contemporary brothers and sisters, photographers-for whom I have such great respect-and offer me a sense of great pride-that I am part of their family. 

These past six weeks, I’ve been scared every day. I’m terrified of getting this horrible virus and am only too aware that it is omnipresent, particularly in New York. But, it is in part with a sense of honor, that I wake up each day and go out, as careful as possible, to document the human stories I encounter, which are in part, all of our story, for now and for time. I most often send people the photographs I make of them. I’d like to share with you a few of the responses that I have received that will help you understand further the honor I feel to be alive and doing what I do. 

A week ago-I photographed the wedding of Daniel and Emily-who-wearing masks-“didn’t have the wedding they wanted-but had the one they needed”. They sent me this note afterwards: “We were really lucky to bump into you on our special day which made it all that more special! We really enjoyed reading your posts. All the positive feedback is well-founded. You're a great photographer and person overall. We look forward to seeing how your creative eye continues to capture the hope in New York. “ 

This past week, I received an email from Karolyne-an ambulance EMT originally from Brazil, and now working with an ambulance service in New York-daily exposing herself of the dangers of this Covid pandemic: “Thank you so much for reaching out, I am moved by your work, you are showing the real faces of New York during this challenging times. I am happy to know that you are dedicating your time and skills to record the strength, hardship and incredible resilience of the diverse communities that define New York City. It's an honor to be part of the work you are doing. Thank you for personally sending me the pictures you took, because of your courage that moment will kindly be captured forever. Thank you for enlightening this tough moment that New Yorkers are going through with art, the light on the eyes of the faces behind the mask will never be forgotten. Wish you strength, health and much love. “

Several weeks ago-I photographed a beautiful family in a window applauding at 7pm, the health care  and essential  workers in New York, and after sending them a photograph, the mother, Maria, responded to me, “It was so nice to meet a fellow neighbor yesterday. Thank you so much for the beautiful photo. We will treasure it forever. Your photos are beautiful and so moving. Please be care and stay safe as you continue to document the city. We will be in the window each night as it has become part of our routine to cheer for those on the frontlines. Maybe we will see you again soon. Best,Maria, Chris, Isabel and Milo

Melissa, who works as an artist manager, also volunteers each week at a soup kitchen in the Bowery. After sending a link to the photographs of the Bowery Mission where she volunteers, she replied to me: “I pulled the post up initially while in one of the giant queues to get into a grocery store and started crying. Thankfully I have a hat and a mask to hide behind a bit lately. :) Melissa 

Finally, last night, after photographing Tony’s funeral send off ceremony, I spoke to Mike on the phone, an EMT, that I had photographed at Elmhurst Hospital in Queens several weeks ago. On the phone, as we were finishing talking, I said to Mike, “if I ever get sick and have to go to the hospital, I hope I can call you and you’d get me to the right place”, and he replied, “Don’t worry Pete, you are now considered part of our family, we’ll take care of you”. 

Well, talk about an honor in life-you can’t do much better than all of that. I am so grateful to all-and to all of you-that have been following along on this visual diary of this war that has been affecting us all. Thank you and God bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 30 — April 25, 2020

Diary Entry 30 — April 25, 2020

"It is not the wedding we wanted-but it is the one we needed". 

Today, as I returned from a walk in Central Park, I came across a scene that in most ways, one could see almost any day-a newly married couple walking. But today there was an extraordinary circumstance-the couple and their wedding party were all wearing masks. This was the first coronavirus wedding I have seen. Daniel and Emily live in Brooklyn and they've been trying to plan a wedding for awhile. Daniel's parents immigrated to the US from Mexico and he was born in New York, and Emily immigrated to the US from Equador when she was a very young girl. They both met in New York. "planning the wedding under these circumstances was very stressful. With the crisis, the marriage office in New York is closed, so we had to go to New Jersey where we could get a marriage license and were married there today. We had to limit the number of people that could attend our wedding. This is not the wedding we wanted, but it is the one we needed. We are happy despite everything." 

There was so much about this moment and scene that speaks to this moment for all of us. In so many ways this is not the moment we wanted. But-as so many New Yorkers demonstrate every day-with humility, kindness, courage, and grace-even in the face of a war that has killed thousands of our brothers and sisters-so many people stand up and refuse to let their spirit be killed-and so many, like Emily and Daniel-refuse to let anything stop or impede their love. There is no doubt that none of us wanted or needed this moment-but maybe when all will be said and done-and we look back at the heroes of our society of this moment-we will realize that in some ways-with respect to the way we see ourselves and decide collectively what are the values we care about most-maybe this will have been a moment like Daniel and Emilys' wedding-that is not what we wanted, but in part, what we needed. 

Something tells me as well that there is no mask, that could ever get in the way of a glorious future of love, for Daniel and Emily. God bless. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 29 — April 22, 2020

Diary Entry 29 — April 22, 2020

Today I went out to buy some groceries and as I turned a corner near where I stay-I saw out of the corner of my eye-a couple both wearing masks-touching each others faces as if they we're kissing. As I lifted my camera they pulled a bit apart, and I couldn't help myself to shout out-"wow-was that a kiss?". They both looked at me and laughed and leaned over and kissed again. After walking down the street a bit-I ran back and introduced myself and asked their names. Conall, from Ireland and now in the States for many years works as a building manager. Laura, 31, born in Colombia, and now in the States most of her life-is a ballet dancer and currently not working. I asked them how they were making it during this crisis and they replied "we cook a lot and we walk a lot. During normal times-our schedules don't allow to spend much time together. We are happy because now we are together all of the time." They have been together for the past 2 years. 

We all know that this is most definitely not a happy time for many, many people. But, on a late April day-it helps the heart on a beautiful day of sunshine to realize that one way or the other, in the middle of this war-the heart can know love-and spring is still around the corner. 
With love. 

Visual Diary Entry 28 — April 21, 2020

Entry 28 — April 21, 2020

Today, I boarded the 10:30 Staten Island Ferry. Immediately I saw a couple sitting, holding hands, on a lower deck. I made a few photographs and introduced myself. The couple told me they were from W. Virginia, and Rachelle is a traveling nurse, and has quit her job back home to come work in an ER at a hospital in Queens. Rob, her boyfriend, is a welder back in W. Virginia and this is his first trip to New York. I mentioned to the couple who were making the trip to see the Statue of Liberty that the best view would be on the upper deck. We all went upstairs, and after making a few photographs, I left the couple to be by themselves. A while later, as I observed this private moment between this very brave and kind couple, I lifted my camera to make this photograph. On the return trip to Manhattan-we spoke further. It is a photograph that will always be very meaningful to me. 

This moment encapsulates so much about the humanity of this moment of war in which we all find ourselves. Rachelle served as a nurse in Afghanistan. Upon return, she was working as an ER nurse back home at a hospital near Parkersburg, West Virginia. When the coronavirus crisis hit the United States and New York the hardest-she decided to quit her job and come to New York. “I spent a year in Afghanistan with the army. I just thought it was my sense of duty to come here and help out again-this time wearing a different uniform. I expected the worse. Everyone is so nice -I just wanted to help out. I’ve been her a week. We had a day off and I wanted Rob to see the sights. I’ll stay until July. If I am needed more, I’ll stay longer. I asked Rob how he felt about her clearly very dangerous work in a covid ward section of a hospital in Queens-one of the hardest hit area in the world with this virus. Rob replied, “honestly-I worry-she’s smart-she takes care of herself. I’m proud. It’s her hearts’ calling-I can’t deny her that. Rachelle added, “it’s catching people left and right-it doesn’t discriminate.  I’m less scared here because here you know everyone has it that comes in-in a little town where I worked back home, people come in complaining of a chest pain-and then later you discover they have covid.” 

Rachelle has four children and Rob has two. They told me they had been together three and a half years until recently when they went through a 5-month breakup. Since the beginning of this crisis, they have gotten back together, and both hope this time it will be forever, “this has brought us back closer”.  Rachel told me that this experience is actually not much different than her time in Afghanistan-in each place the concern is what you can’t know- “the not knowing”.  In both places the priority is maintaining the safety. I asked her how the virus was affecting the patients she sees- “Everybody is taking it differently. I’m just here to make them feel better.”  Rob added, “this might be what humanity needed. It’s sad to say that-but when it’s all over-hopefully we will realize we are all together.”  Rachelle added, “now when I go to McDonald’s or the grocery store-I thank everybody for their service”. 

On the return trip back to Manhattan on the ferry, we spoke at length, and I had the impression of having just met some wonderful new friends. And, my heart sang to see this couple together, in love, and it witness two human beings with such grace and courage.  

In middle of this tragic war, the world has lost hundreds of thousands of people that have died from this virus, and in the United States alone, almost as many citizens have died in a few short months, as the number of US soldiers killed during the more than 10 years of the Vietnam War. 

All of the courage, bravery, decency and goodness demonstrated by so many people-by the thousands of Rachelle’s of our world that will go unnoticed and uncelebrated-all of that will not change the tragedy of this moment. But for those of us who will be fortunate enough to survive this pandemic-there will always be a light of hope that will inhabit our hearts-because of the example of so many of our brothers and sisters, who have shown us-just how wonderfully human we are capable of being. 

When I said goodbye to Rachelle and Rob at the Ferry terminal-I asked them if people back in W. Virginia were all strong people-and they both smiled and said at the same time “Mountaineer strong!”.  I thanked them and said goodbye and Rachelle called out, “Bye Pete”. 

Since I’ve been an adult, only my close family and childhood friends call me “Pete”-everyone else calls me Peter. Rachelle will never know how much a simple farewell like that-at a time when I’ve been far from family and my loved ones, could mean to me. God bless. With love. 

Visual Diary Entry 25 — April 19, 2020

Entry 25 — April 19, 2020

My world and existence this past month are both reduced and expanded to little,

and much. I wake up, each day grateful to meet the day feeling healthy, and make coffee, fry two eggs (this is a huge victory for me), get cleaned up and dressed,

carefully put on my mask, put several pairs of gloves in my pockets, and pick up my Leica M10 camera (one of my best friends) and walk out the door. Suddenly, my existence exits what is basically a bedroom, living room, bathroom and kitchen (with an essential tall window next to the bed greeting me with either beautiful sunshine like today, or greyness and rain-like yesterday), and I walk out into the city of New York-the epicenter of the coronavirus crisis in the world. 

For the past month-the worlds’ most dynamic city is a ghost town. Yesterday, I went to Grand Central Station-usually a symbol of movement for a city that has energy like no other. I walked in expected to see a grand hall memorialized in photographs with long rays of light coming through its’ windows-and instead I found one of the busiest commuter train stations in the world-almost completely empty. This emptiness became immediately synonymous with being alone. This feeling was bittersweet. In such a grand expanse, one felt somewhat diminished, small, insignificant-and yet-there was a feeling of having this tremendous palace of transit all to oneself. 

My eyes encountered a lone man, walking with a cane, across the main hall of Grand Central Station. Very often, when I photograph, I don’t simply make one photograph-particularly if it is of a person-I like to do what I call “stay with it-work a situation”. Life evolves every second with new gestures, body language, expression, and often gets more interesting. After making an initial photograph of this elder man named Richard-I introduced myself. Richard told me he lived on 23rdStreet and was heading towards Larchmont, New York. I followed him as he walked to his train-literally the only passenger on this commuter train. He sat at the front of the train and told me he likes to sit there because it feels safer. Richard worked for 30 years in maintenance for the NY Board of Education. He told me, “I grew up during the depression and remember World War II. This moment we are living through is an enormous economic catastrophe. Poor people are in big trouble. I recall in my childhood getting ration tickets for food. What we are living through now will be worse. Society has grown larger and more complex.” I made a small essay of photographs of Richard seen here. He seemed to me to be a symbol of so much about this moment. We are all in this together-yes-but we are also very much alone. We embrace every phone call with our loved ones-every conversation with a neighbor-every encounter with a person we photograph-because we know that if it is our destiny to make that dreaded trip to the hospital-we will be alone. 

On the train tracks of Richards’ train, I encountered Alex, a train conductor who works for Metro North. “Our families are scared for us. We’ve had some sick and some deaths among our colleagues. Stay safe, hug the one’s you love, and follow the guidelines-that is all we can do”. 

A bit later, I met another train conductor, Jason, 38. He told me, “I haven’t had much experience in life-but there is nothing I can compare this with. My family is scared”. I told him he was a hero, and he shook his head, almost in disgust-I think both out of a sense of humility, and the realization that he was doing this work out of a sense of duty and obligation, and economic necessity. He is, though, very much a hero. 

At the information both in the center of the main hall of the station, sat, “D”. She told me she is very scared of her commute to work-which is an hour and a half each way to and from New Jersey. She says she feels safe inside the bubble of her information booth. 

Larry, 57, a customer service worker for Metro North, with 28 years on the job, stood alone in the main Hall. He travels each day 4 hours to and from Connecticut for his job. “It’s been a ghost town since the beginning if this. I ride like I always do. The cleaners are taking extra precautions to keep the trains safe. I do hear rumors some of the conductors have gotten sick.”

A young couple, John and Megan, stood in the main hall getting their photograph made, holding a “I Love New York” tee-shirt. I asked them why they had come to do this. They explained that they were expecting a baby in September and they wanted to have a memory to show of what the world looked like before the baby is born. 

Before returning “home”, I stopped by a fire station on W. 10thStreet. Josh, 39, a fireman was sitting in front of a fire truck. “It’s tough -we’re working a lot. Will get through it. Everyone is doing their part. We go on a lot of EMS calls now-we always have this thing in the back of our head. My wife is more nervous when I go to work. It sucks that she is furloughed from work-but I’m glad she is not essential.” When asked why he became a fireman, he replied, “I used to work EMS-it is a natural progression. I like to be of public service. There is definitely an adrenaline rush to it. Unfortunately, that usually means some else is in a shitty situation. Our biggest fear on the job is being trapped in a fire or hearing little kids trapped in apt. Since the beginning of this crisis- I’m probably a little more aware of my surroundings. There are firemen getting sick around the job.”

I wake up on this Sunday morning with beautiful sunshine out the window. I know I will return today to photograph more hospital workers from Mount Sinai Hospital. I spoke earlier of the notion of being alone. One can say you are not alone-and this is true-I am not alone-and we are all in this together. But the truth is more complex-we are alone, and we are together. What is important is spirit, hope, and love. The human face of New York, that I witness each day-provides me with hope and courage-and my heart, and the hearts of so many people I care about all over the world-lets me know and feel love. God Bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 26 — April 19, 2020

Diary Entry 26 — April 19, 2020

One of the things I have learned through many years of walking with a camera is that one, things never happen exactly as one expects, and secondly, most often, the things that do happen, if you just stay open to receiving and responding to them both humanly and visually, are much more interesting than anything one could predict of foresee. Yesterday morning, I woke up on a Sunday-almost exactly one month since the beginning of the New York lock-down during this coronavirus crisis-and one month of a major change in my life-and all of our lives, and decided to return to Mount Sinai Hospital to meet and speak to more hospital workers that are all so bravely risking their lives to save ours’ during this crisis. 

I met, George, Anna, Herbert, Cleo, Clara, Mariana, Richard, Mike, Bella, Kristen, Cameron, Rachel, Julian, Angel, Avic, Pam, Teri, Andre, Ray, and Scott. There is an important reason why I mention all of these names-it is exactly why I wake up each day during this crisis and at some risk to own health, go out each day to photograph and document this moment. New York City-which has been the epicenter of the coronavirus in the world this past month-is a city of human beings-each with a name-each with an age-each with a life experience-each with a family that cares about them-and they all, like each of us, are much more important than statistics, or numbers, peaks, flattened curves, and definitely politics-they are the heart and soul of this moment-and the heart and soul of our moment. 

If there is one overriding theme that dominates my motivation to pick up a camera and to memorialize, for now, and for all time-I am driven to want to both make a declaration with my life and existence, and more importantly-driven to honor the people I encounter, and hence to honor the gift of life itself. I have traveled the world now for almost 50 years-and through all I have seen-many moments that challenge the compass of my heart and soul-and yet, I remain, resolutely hopeful and optimistic. Never has this hope been more strong-then after this past month of looking to the eyes and faces of so many people in New York City-every single one- worried and anxious-and yet-so many standing up every day to show us all what can be best about ourselves. And not once, aside from the President that does it daily-have I witnessed one single person that asks for any thanks, gratitude, or particular appreciation. Every day-I hear people say-“I have a job to do”, “a sense of duty”, “ we are all in this together”, “one day at a time”, “thank you”, “how are you doing”, “be safe and take care of yourself”. 

In the coming days I will be working on a video montage of all of the photographs I have made and the stories I have come across this past month. This will be my expression of the human face of the coronavirus crisis in New York City. I will look forward to sharing this with the world soon-and will strive with all of my ability and heart to honor the so many people that have honored me, and us. This will be their story, and more importantly this will be OUR STORY. We can all stand up and be proud-we are one, and together we will overcome. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 27 — April 20, 2020

Diary Entry 27 — April 20, 2020

Let's show the healthcare workers of the world our love!

Everywhere in the world, at this moment-it is 7pm. 
Let's let them know worldwide, we love them-they are our true heroes, and they show us the best of who we can be! 
They are fighting for us-and together, with them, we will win this war!

God bless, With love.

Visual Diary Entry 24 — April 17, 2020

Diary Entry 24 — April 17, 2020

I am not ashamed to say that every day, in the middle of this war, I know fear. Fear comes from a powerful and forceful drive for survival. Collectively, I would imagine that much of the world is living with an omnipresent notion of fear every day-for many this is a first extended encounter with war. I am hoping we can collectively learn some things that may enable us as a society, and a human family to grow stronger. Maybe it is a moment to review our values, of what is most important. There is likely no more powerful an inspiration to become more human, than when we recognize and accept our human vulnerability and embrace this as part of what makes us beautifully human. Clearly love emerges as what is most important in a moment like this. Nothing is more important than the survival of the people we love-our family our friends, our community, and our world. We need to change some things! We can no longer survive as a society with such great disparity of wealth, and with such an incredibly large number of people among us that do not have health care, and so many of our children don't have access to excellent free public education. Who are are real heroes? Is it the CEO of a company that makes 35 million dollars a year while the package delivery person that is now guaranteeing our survival in the middle of this war by delivering our food-works for only a minimal and barely survival hourly wage? If we emerge from this battle, as we will-we must not return to a world where the rich and powerful continually lecture us about patriotism, and demand that we stand for the flag to cheer for the status quo. We must make some important and fundamental readjustments. But there is glory in this. This will not create division or an us and them world. The challenge will be to make clear that everyone in a world that is more fair-everyone-will live better. There are no losers in this change. When we live in a society with healthcare and good public education as a right for all-everyone will live better. And, as a society, we will know less fear. And then, this moment of fear for survival underling our collective vulnerability-will have made us stronger. This will be our victory-with glory. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 17 — April 10, 2020

Diary Entry 17 — April 10, 2020

As I exited Zabar's yesterday afternoon. the store that has essentially kept me alive with food these past three weeks, I saw this gentleman standing in line waiting to enter the store. I had my camera on my shoulder as I always do, and upon seeing this man-me wearing a mask-I shouted, "you are so handsome, do you mind if I make a photograph of you". Without speaking, he nodded his head in approbation and I made this photograph. I then asked him his name, and he made a motion again without speaking that it was not necessary to know his name. He is right. It isn't necessary to know his name. I have thought a lot over night about this man and this moment. It is true he is not wearing a mask, and please, do not make any comments to that effect-any comment won't change the fact that yes-he is not wearing a mask. But maybe he was doing something, many things, more than that in this case. This man, who clearly has lived a few years of this past century and certainly has seen a lot in his own life-with his choice of clothes, his hat, his gloves, his posture, his cane, his way of being-maybe he has chosen on this Passover and Easter weekend, to stand up, and with the elegance and grace which is clearly part of who he is-he has chosen to make a defiant statement at this moment and say clearly and loudly, "F.... You" to coronavirus. "You can try-but you will not take away my dignity, my pride, my courage, my hope, and my life-so just go away, and don't even try to "F" with me ". 

And maybe that was his way of saying this for all of us. There are somethings one will never be able to purchase on the shelf of a store-pride, dignity, courage, hope, determination, resilience, humility, decency, and love. And, like so many moments in my life when I have encountered people that have taught me lessons of life I couldn't have learned in any other way than from observing them-I thank this man for standing up for all of us. God bless him, and God bless us all. 
With love, Peter

Visual Diary Entry 31 — April 25, 2020

Diary Entry 31 — April 25, 2020

Like the eyes are for a person, windows are an opening to the heart and soul of a city-and more than ever before, in this time of isolation, and empty streets, I find my own eyes noticing and studying more than ever the architecture and facades of New York- normally most energetic city in the world. 

This weekend-on Saturday-a spring sun, came out, and one could scenes, like Gabriel and Alexis, that came out to relax together, and share their love, outdoors. 

The pulse beat of New York these days is a bit slower-but it will never stop, and will never be defeated.

Visual Diary Entry 23 — April 17, 2020

Diary Entry 23 — April 17, 2020

The Human Face of the Coronavirus Crisis in New York City.

There have now been more than 12,000 people that have died from coronavirus in New York. While I understand the importance of statistics, particularly with this crisis, in the way in which they offer the possibilities for scientists and specialists and policy makers to have an essential overview of the evolution of this crisis in order to try to help win this war-in general, I have always felt that statistics remove the public from looking into the human face and emotion of what war is really like-and this is a war-possibly the most important war of most of our lifetimes. 

I recall during the Gulf War in 1991 how the US Military would have daily press briefing during the air war, and viewers would see on television statistics of Iraqi dead, and occasionally see aerial photographs of bombs exploding-something akin to a Nintendo game. But what the public was not seeing was that behind each statistic, was a human being, a dead human being with a wife, a family, parents, and a community-and it would leave the viewer without any sense of emotion regarding the loss of human life. When I covered the ground war of this Gulf War, I saw first-hand what this destruction looked like, and I was determined to bring back a set of photographs that would convey the true cost of war and the human emotion connected to human loss. I published then a portfolio called “the Unseen Gulf War”. I have always thought this was an important record of what that war really looked like. 

Since the beginning of this crisis, I have gone out most every day to photograph and document, the human face of this war on the world, and on New York City-a war waged by an invisible enemy, smaller than a pin head-but as lethal as major bomb attack. When I go out, I always wear a mask and gloves and keep a safe social distance from everyone around me-but I feel it is essential to look into the eyes of this moment-for now and for all time. 

Today-I looked into the eyes of true heroes-the healthcare workers of Mount Sinai Hospital-many who had lined up outdoors, waiting to take a noon lunch/pizza break, a short respite from their time of battle, inside one of the major New York Hospitals fighting this pandemic of the coronavirus crisis.

I ask you to please take a good look into the eyes of the people seen in these photographs. This is the best of humanity-these are people that have families, children, loved ones, feelings, emotions, souls, and hearts-just like the rest of us. And they go out each day-and risk their lives, rising to the occasion of their calling, humbly and beautifully demonstrating compassionate and informed care-risking their own survival-to fight for ours. 

As I have photographed the plight of refugees worldwide, always thought our world would be so much better if every world leader was obliged to spend at least one week living in a refugee camp before taking power. Oh, how I wish the leader of the country of my origin, would be obliged to work alongside a night shift of a nurse or a doctor fighting coronavirus in a hospital. If only that person could learn a lesson in humility, courage, care, compassion, love, and kindness from these true heroes that represent the best of who we are-we all might be that much closer to winning this war. One way or the other, we will win-because our souls are not determined by one person-but uplifted by our collective power of humanity-that the people I have seen every day in the last month here in New York, show us always. 

Visual Diary Entry 22 — April 16, 2020

Diary Entry 22 — April 16, 2020

In the war with the coronavirus, as the world seeks an ant-viral drug treatment to fight this enemy, a nation also finds an opportunity to find a cure for its’ soul, at the very moment, that it is not only attacked by this virus, but has lost its’ way with division regarding what are its’ values that are most important.  

In the midst of this moment-there are so many people, that go about their days, risking their lives, helping us rediscover what can be best about our common humanity, without ever asking for thanks, recognition, or notice-simply doing what millions are doing right now-being the best person they can be, humbly doing the right thing. 

Yesterday afternoon, on the outskirts of a field hospitalhospital, created to treat Covid-19 patients from the Mount Sinai hospital system, I met Meredith. 24.  She is a master’s student at mount Sinai studying Bio medical science and has volunteered as part of a student work force She has been volunteering since the crisis started. She told me, “this feels surreal-like a bad movie. My family is upstate New York and they are definitely nervous. This scares a lot of people away-but it makes me want to be a part of it. I feel like there is not enough I can do. It’s craziness. I’m doing the PPE. The first call I got as an assignment was for body bags. That was crazy. I work until 11pm every day. When I go home, I feel sad. It doesn’t feel real. I live alone. Most of my friends are in healthcare. The nightly applause is really moving-it makes it feel worth it. There are little girls across from my building where I live that bang on pots and pans. What frustrates me most are the people that aren’t wearing masks and staying home”. 

Earlier-an ambulance was pulling out of the tent hospital area and I met Karolyne, an EMT, originally from Brazil. She and her colleague had just delivered to the field hospital a Covid-19 patient from Queens. She told me most of the calls her ambulance was responding to were for Covid-19 patients. She looked out at this tent field hospital in the middle of an American city and said to me: “this looks like a war scenario”. I asked her if she was scared and she replied, “I just do my job”. 

Another nursing assistant, Angela, 54, originally from Baku in Azerbaijan, and now 26 years in the United States, crossed my path as she was leaving her shift at Mount Sinai Hospital where she works with Covid-19 patients in intervention radiology. She sees at least 10 coronavirus patients every day and has been doing this since the beginning of the crisis. “I’m scared of course. I live in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. I live with my family and I work the night shift from 11pm-7am. This is my job and I have three kids. Everyone in my family is in the medical field. I don’t feel good. My wish is that everybody on this planet will be able to return home from hospitals. Everyone. In my work with the coronavirus patients, I clean them-feed them, and at night I sit and watch them. I am very sad about this problem”. 

When I started my day, I went out to get a coffee at a local store, and came across, Alex, 52, from Brooklyn,  who works for Go Fund Me, and cleans the streets of New York and takes care of picking up the trash from the trash bins on city street corners. I watched him work and saw the care and concentration he showed in his efforts. It reminded me of the time my father pointed out to me when I was 10 years old, a gentleman cleaning the windows of a diner restaurant. My father said to me, “Peter, watch that man work. He wants to be the best window washer in the world, and if you go forward and do anything and everything you do in life as well as that man does his job, you will be okay”. 

A bit further I encountered Roger, 26. Traffic policeman. We spoke and he told me, “Not much opportunity for me to do most anything. I guess my presence helps others to watch their  p’s and q’s. I’m not a hero-just smother human being. Humbly doing my best. Live with my mom. My mom is always telling me to be careful. I get why she does it. She’s a mom. I see some people being kinder these days. In situations like this you see what a person is all about. I try to see the best in people. I’m seeing that a little bit more right now”. 

Llewelyn, was washing the glass door of the apartment complex where he is the super. “my name has Welsh origin, but my origins are-Dominican. I’m the superb. Cool profession. I wipe down every day the door handles, elevator buttons, anything that has been touched. I’ve been ok so far. I’ve worked here for two years. I live here now with my daughter, son, and wife. 

Late in the day, I came across two women, Jocelyn and Dorothy sitting a safe distance apart on a park bench-they’ve been friends for 60 years. They live near each other on the Upper Westside. They told me they call their meetings outside on the bench, “a bench date”. I asked how they were making it and Jocelyn responded, “It’s rather bizarre to say the least.” Dorothy told me that as a result of this crisis, “We have to get a new system where the people come first. We had a whole civil rights movement in my time-what went wrong? Cuomo says he is surprised that the fatality rate is higher with people if color. He said we have to study this. You don’t have to study anything-just call me.”

At the end of this day, at 7pm, like every other day, on the street where I stay on the Upper Westside, people came to every window, and many came out on front door steps, to shout, and applause, sing, and thank, all of the people, like Meredith, Angela, Karolyne, Alex, Llewelyn, and millions of essential workers all over America and the world, for risking their lives each day, asking for nothing in return, just doing their jobs the best they can to help save ours. And unlike the man who presides over press conferences at the White House each afternoon, that spends a large part of his time congratulating himself and seeing praise, and expressing disdain for anyone that questions his leadership or authority-unlike this man that reminds so many of our human shortcomings-the millions of essential workers all over the United States and the world, give us reason to rejoice, applaud, and offer us something we can all be proud of-our common, beautiful, loving, hard-working, decent, humanity, offering us hope. With love 

Visual Diary Entry 18 — April 11, 2020

Diary Entry 18 — April 11, 2020

Have you ever stood in line at a soup kitchen because you were hungry? 
Yesterday I witnessed a multitude of men and women, many homeless and without shelter, and all among our society’s most vulnerable during this time of the coronavirus crisis, standing in the cold, waiting to receive a bag of food, at The Bowery Mission at Prince and Bowery Streets.  

A few days ago, while photographing a wonderful woman, Melissa, in Central Park, she told me about the Bowery Mission, where she volunteers several days a week. 

There is an epidemic of homelessness in the New York City area with more than 70,000 people without a home. Added to this reality, with the coronavirus crisis and millions of people in New York and around the US, now without a job and any income-the challenges of daily survival have become overwhelming. 

When I arrived yesterday at the Bowery Mission, an organization that “has served homeless and hungry New Yorkers since the 1870s, when its neighborhood came to define the term “skid row” and an organization that “serves homeless and hungry New Yorkers and provides services that meet their immediate needs and transforms their lives from poverty and hopelessness to hope”, there was a line a few blocks long of men and women waiting in the cold, to be served a bag of food.

Carl was first in line and he told me he is “struggling a bit” and said, “I am still here, but it is stressful”.  Andre, 56, lives temporarily at The Bowery Mission and was eating a hot meal inside.

Inside The Bowery Mission, I met many of the people that work on staff and many who also volunteer. Wanda was cooking in the kitchen, and volunteers. I asked her why she does this and she told me, “I love serving humanity. I want to be a better servant today than I was yesterday. I believe this virus is a wake-up for mankind.”

John, a cook at The Bowery, stood over a grill preparing food with a sign behind him that said,  “Serve Like You Are Serving a King”. 

I asked Rebecca, another volunteer, who hands food to the many people hungry waiting outdoors in line, why she takes the risk to do this work and she replied, “I want God to love New York!”.  Kenton, another volunteer, when asked the same question, replied, “it’s hard to shelter in place when you don’t have a home.”

There are man very good people among us, that do many good things daily, but issues like homelessness and hunger, are issues that most often are the problems of others-and those others most often are far from our vison and sight. This moment worldwide of the coronavirus underlines possibly more than ever before how much we are united by our common vulnerable humanity.  It will remain to be seen if our society will continue to be one of haves and have nots, where, implicit in a constant system of relentless competition there are winners and losers. Or, could there be the possibility that we will review this program as a nation, as a people, and stand up to the economic powers that be and forcefully unite to offer equal access to all to health care, good public education, and feel a societal responsibility for those that occasionally fall and are vulnerable and require our help and compassion. They are not losers-they are us! 

What I will remember more than anything else from what I witnessed among the beautiful people working at The Bowery Mission handing out food and from witnessing the multitude of people standing outside in the cold-waiting for some food to survive-is that every single person I witnessed that walked up and took a bag of food from such heroic people like Rebecca and Kenton-every single person that needed the food they were receiving, said with many different voices, accents, some voices weak and some voices stronger-every single one would say the one thing they could offer back-and that was- they all said, “Thank you”.  This broke my heart-and leaves me writing this in tears.  No one among us should ever have to say thank you to survive with food-our human family had enough food for all-particularly in a society like the United States, where certain high rolling investors have recently made literally billions of dollars shorting the stock market as this crisis drives millions out of jobs and income. 

This could be me, and this could be you. Every year at Easter lunch for years, I am the one in our family that says grace. This will be the first year without my mother, and this will be the first year, I will be alone for Easter. But I will say by myself, as I say each year, “dear lord, thank you for all that I and we have in our life, and please let us think of, and help, all those of us that have less. God bless, Amen”.

Visual Diary Entry 21 — April 14, 2020

Diary Entry 21 — April 14, 2020

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! 

Worldwide, on the Upper Westside of Manhattan, all over New York on every street and every borough, all over the United States, Italy, France, England, Cuba-on every continent-and most every country-when the clock strikes a certain time every night-people all over the world are united by their expression of gratitude that comes from deep in the heart and from every cell of the body-for the many, many, many heroes of this moment that are risking their lives, to save ours! 

Tonight, on the street where I stay in New York, at the strike of 7pm, an explosion of applause, shouting, and yelling began. People come out of their doorways-people hang from windows, cars honk their horns, and Kimberly, seen here, came down from her apartment to stand in the street this one night-to have a new point of view on this moment. Kim is a pastry chef and a flight attendant, not working at this moment, and she is originally from a small farm town in Minnesota, and has lived now in New York for the past 31 years. She told me, "But, I'm a New Yorker now! It's in my blood! What we are doing here-thanking the healthcare workers and all of the essential workers-this is a simple gesture anyone can do. I feel like it is my civic duty to stay inside. I'm not doing anything, and this makes me feel like I am doing something. I have friends that have friends that are healthcare workers and they say this helps them and encourages them. I usually clap from the window-but today I wanted to see what it was like downstairs". Kim also lived through 9/11 in New York and did volunteer work then.

Kim told me that a lot of days, she goes through ups and downs. I do too. We all do. But when the day ends, and we all come out, and shout, and clap-our day ends with an expression of thanks, and gratitude, and a form of victory! And this gives strength, to approach the night, while we wait for the light of tomorrow. 
God Bless. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 13 — April 6, 2020

Diary Entry 13 — April 6, 2020

This morning, as the week in New York begins with projections that the next two weeks will be America's Pearl Harbor and 9/11 combined with the coronavirus that will kill thousands and so many families will lose loved ones, the weather shines somewhat ironically as a gorgeous spring day. There are so many difficult ironies in this moment. As I sat on my steps of the building where I stay on the Upper Westside, Gabriel, 22, a delivery person for Federal Express walked by. He stopped to speak to me and I asked him how he was making out. He told me he wasn't scared, but that his neighborhood in the Bronx is known to be possibly the place with the most coronavirus cases in New York State. I asked him how he felt about his job and he said to me, "I love my job, and I simply wish that I could move to live in this neighborhood one day."

This is not a moment for politics as we are all in this together. But one of the real questions of this moment is, are we really in this all together. I wake up today on a day that should represent the beginning of one of the most tragic weeks in American history and see the stock market is up 5%. One might say-that is the beauty of capitalism-everyone can gain-but in the land of the American dream-everyone does not gain-less than 50 % of the population doesn't own a stock, and more than 60% don't have $400 in an account for a rainy day. I read as well this morning that the CEO of JPMorgan wrote a letter to shareholders speaking of how with this crisis-it will be important to review our social contracts and the social realities of the US regarding access to health care and education. But, will men like him be willing to stop making more than 30 million dollars a year while people like Gabriel, the fedex worker, and Carline the postal worker-people that are literally saving our lives while risking theirs', who work for low hourly wages? 

Millions of people are suffering at this moment without jobs, income, and with difficulty of putting food on the table. The only American dream that could be worthwhile is one where every child has access to good public education and to healthcare as a right, and where the countries leaders judge the well being of the country based on empathy, humanity, fairness, and decency, rather than stock market results, facebook followers, and their own sense of infinite narcissism for imagined popularity. 

Worldwide we all dream-I dream that if there is anything positive that can come out of this war and tragedy-it will be that a nation, a society, and our world, will find a consensus that fairness, courage, decency, compassion, and equal opportunity for all, be the basis for our notion of greatness. This will mean a serious review and change in the world view of many of the most rich and powerful-and require that we all stand up when we can-to defend the futures of the Gabriel's of this world-so they can in fact, feel part of the dream, which should be our collective dream. With love, Peter 

Visual Diary Entry 19 — April 13, 2020

Diary Entry 19 — April 13, 2020

Late yesterday afternoon, I went out on Easter day to get some air, with a desire to feel some 

light on my face and body. As happens often these days, I didn’t have any determination to go find anything particular with my camera-I simply always have it with me on my shoulder. 

As I crossed a street corner, near Broadway and 85thstreet, I saw a couple walking both hand in hand. There was something about the way they walked together that felt very happy, and while they were both wearing masks-there was a lift to their step that caught my eye. I called out to them and asked if I could make their photograph. They said yes, and walked across the street towards me and stopped to speak. I introduced myself and they told me their names are Sid and Cheryl. I asked them how old they were and Sid told me he is 87 and Cheryl is 70. I told them they looked beautiful together and it was nice to see them holding hands. Sid said, “well, you know, we’re newlyweds.”  I asked them when they were married and they told me 6 months ago. I told them, “wow, this is really a honeymoon under fire-how is it going”. They both replied at the same time, “We laugh and love. We are so compatible”. Sid told me they sneak out sometimes for walks, and Cheryl said almost like she was sharing a wonderful secret, “we dance together all of the time in the living room”. I asked them if there was any notion of life they were taking with them from these times, and Sid repled, “live every day, because you never know what will happen today”. 

A bit later, as I walked by the Victoria Secret Store, I saw a woman dressed very elegantly walking by and stopped her and introduced myself and asked her name. She is Gretchen, who works in digital publishing. She told me “ we are all in this together, and we are all struggling together”. “We will come out of this”. I mentioned that she was so nicely dressed, and she told me, “I’m trying to acknowledge that it is Easter”. 

A bit further, I saw Bernardino, from Mexico-now in the US for 15 years, standing in front of the outdoor flower section of a local grocery store. As he was standing outside, very exposed to everyone that passes by-I asked him if he was scared and he told me in Spanish, “no, I am not scared”. I asked him if he loved flowers and he told me, “I sell fruit” and he said it with such an enthusiastic tone that it occurred to me that particularly in this moment-fruit is synonomous with life.  

I returned the place where I stay on the Upper Westside to relax for awhile and as it was Easter-and I was alone-I allowed myself to indulge in a large bowl of chocolat chip ice cream. At the sound of 7pm, suddenly I began to hear outdoors, as I do each night now, loud applause and shouts. I picked up my camera and went outside and saw a gentleman waving a big American flag, as he does each night now during this collective 7pm expression of gratitude for all of the health workers and essential workers. I made a photograph and moved further down the street and looked up and saw an elder person, high up in a window, making a peace sign from a window. 

During these long days of lock down-it doesn’t take much for my day to be lifted-a short conversation-a moment I’ve photographed-a telephone call from a friend-even the two fried eggs I fry each morning, all seem like large victories in this struggle. Every story I come across is also in some way, part of my story, part of our story. Every day I am a bit scared. I take my temperature numerous times-and the smallest change in my body raises my awareness towards a fear of the dreaded enemy. I have been fortunate so far, and when I go out, I always wear a mask, gloves, and stay a safe social distance from everyone. 

What people I meet during these time may not know-is how much I need their stories and how much they give me strength and hope and courage. And on this years’ Easter day, I ate alone, and didn’t have any Easter eggs-and I missed the people I love most, and my mother that left us this past year. But the people of New York-each and every one-gave me a beautiful gift. A gift of life. And with that, I had light. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 15 — April 8, 2020

Diary Entry 15 — April 8, 2020

When we ride the train of life, and we feel alone, we must remember, we are one! We are all in this together. Now, and when this is over-over being a qualified word-as things may well never be the same-we must remember the heroes of this moment-my god-what heroes-the hospital workers, postal workers, delivery men and women, police, grocery store clerks, and on and on. What a spectacle of amazing humanity. Never before have we seen so clearly who are the heroes. May we readjust our ideals, and values, and stand up and shout and applaud the beauty of the human soul-which is among us-in the daily life of people that will never be recognized for their heroism-but go about their lives-showing us, how to live ours'. What beauty, what humanity.
God bless.

Visual Diary Entry 12 — April 4, 2020

Diary Entry 12 — April 4, 2020

Today, as I walked up the street in the neighborhood where I stay, a voice called out, "Peter....!". I turned to see a postal worker with a mask on and she said, "Peter, it's Carline-I used to deliver your mail. " I couldn't believe she could remember my name because it has been awhile-but then as we spoke-I discovered that her good memory is only one of her many qualities-courage, decency, and kindness are clearly high on the list of this heroes incredible list of attributes. I asked Carline if she was scared, and she replied, "I take it one day at a time. We had two of our postal workers who have passed already". I asked her if she had children and she told me she has a boy and a girl, and also lives with her mother who is in her eighties. Carline, drives every day four hours each each day to and from the Poconos and is now working 10-12 hour shifts of delivering the mail. I asked her why she does this and she replied, "because I feel so much love for my customers, and a sense of duty, and I need the money".

Earlier I photographed a bus driver who had pulled up to the corner of 81st and Columbus. As I was photographing him through the front windshield of his bus, he put his hands in front as if to make a prayer. There are so many people that make our world go around, every day, that work hard, often for fairly low pay, that truly are essential to our lives. I truly hope that when this is all over, and it will be over, that as a society, and a country, that we don't simply pay thanks to these heroes, in a sort of bourgeois way, as happens so often, like thinking that thanking the troops for service is a form of patriotism though so many people would never allow their own children to go and fight-I hope that we will review on so many levels our sense of priority as a society-and make sure that every one has access to healthcare as a right and all children have access to good public education. If there could be anything positive that emerges from this horrible war and ordeal-it may be that as a society we review and learn from this experience-that not only are we all in this together-but in a world where we can all be proud-fairness and decency must be what we value most. This will require some fundamental change-but if there is one thing we know-when we come out of this-we will be fundamentally changed. With love, Peter.

Visual Diary Entry 20 — April 14, 2020

Diary Entry 20 — April 14, 2020

Every day is a new day of feelings, mood, darkness, light, and is a new chapter, in this crisis which is, my life, our life. This is all new-in many ways horribly new. The beginning of each day is so important. Much of my life these past weeks-when I am not outside, had been defined by laying on a bed where I stay, alone, on the Upper Westside of Manhattan, with a tall window to my left, with wooden shutters that are always in different positions of being open and shut, and a small television high above the bed in front of me. I have probably spent 80 percent of each day when I am not out-laying on this bed. I usually go to bed before it is very late-and most often wake up around 2am, then again 4am, and then again around 6:30. The last thing I do before I go to sleep is take my temperature-and usually this is the first thing I do in the morning-and then several times during the day.

During the 1968 Soviet invasion of Praque, Josef Koudelka photographed an empty Wenesclas Square with his forearm extended, stopping time, and the time of his watch, for then and forever. The watch of this Coronavirus invasion of New York has been a digital thermometer. This time is like none I have never known. Each day is a new day of discovery-discovery of my own emotions, discovery of the evolution of how this enemy is attacking our world, and discovery of both how I, and we are doing in the middle of this battle. If I went back 40 years, I could remember parts of how I felt going to, being in, and returning from places like Irak, Afghanistan, Kosovo, Rwanda, Somalia, Chechnya, Bosnia, South Africa, putsches in USSR and Russia, Tiananmen Square in China, Ground Zero on 9/11, and other places. But, I've never known any moment quite like this. 

So many times in recent years people that have attended my street photography workshops around the world have asked me-don't you miss photojournalism-and this question has always left me confused-because I photograph in recent years more than ever before-simply on longer term projects in a barrio of Cuba, in Paris, in a barbershop in New York, and many long term stories elsewhere-simply not hard news stories-but I always reply-"well, I don't think I have ever left it.I feel I continue to grow as a photographer and hopefully as a person". I also always have answered clearly that I didn't want to have an impression of retracing my steps doing the same things I've done for a long time-but, if there was ever another story of a 9/11 dimension, of course I would be involved. Well-it happened-but this time-I am not simply a passionate and compassionate observer-I am in the middle of this conflict and the enemy is hunting everyone I know, my family, all of my friends worldwide, and the m....f..er feels like it is after me each day as well. It has yet to catch me, and I will continue to do my best that it doesn't. But if there is one thing I learned along time ago, when people would say to me, "there is no photograph worth dying for"-I always thought that this expression is a form of insult to my friends and colleagues who have lost their lives over time in the line of duty-because it implies that we control our world-and we get to choose. I've always thought it would be more appropriate to say that there are stories and photographs that are worth the risk to live for. 

I noticed that in one of the two photographs I am posting today, I am propping up my thermometer in part with not only my hand, but with two fingers-including my middle finger. I guess that is a lot how I feel about this virus-that middle finger, is like all of my photographs during this period-like all of the poignant human stories of survival and courage so many people have told me each day, like the saxophonist in Central Park playing music. Every gesture, each day, is one we learn new-and most of them are our acts of defiance, and our way of saying-"you will not steal my joy, and you will not steal our life." We will win this war. And together, with you reading this, and with these rambling words-we move forward in time, with love, and take ourselves towards beautiful light, while the enemy disappears slowly into the shadows. We shall overcome. With love.

Visual Diary Entry 11 — April 1, 2020

Diary Entry 11 — April 1, 2020

Each night, more, and more, as dark falls, and as I lay on my bed in an apartment on New York's Upper Westside, sirens shout out, with long, echoing swirls, that are clearly not police car sirens-these are the sirens of a healthcare war zone-of a city that now distinguishes itself as the ground zero of the world-of an invisible war on our bodies and our health. 

The early evening starts with applause, with people at every window clapping, and shouting our collective appreciation for the healthcare workers and all essential workers. And soon, too soon, as we all settle into our boxes of shelter-alone-the sirens begin. It is ironic that the sirens sound so almost evil-haunting-because they are such a symbol that the enemy has struck-whereas in fact they are associated with heroes that are trained to help and save people with such courage and selflessness-like the amazing EMT seen in this photograph, Mike Galloway, devoting his daily life to saving others. 

Proust wrote so profoundly about how the senses speak to memory-taste, smell, and now sound provoke impulses of memory. The sirens of this moment will always be associated with this moment of war, and when we hear them in the future-we will always remember this moment with sadness-and when this future memory happens, it will be because we have survived this moment. And, we will survive this moment. And several hours from now-and possibly months from now, there will be light.

Visual Diary Entry 10 — April 1, 2020

Diary Entry 10 — April 1, 2020

I shout love and applause to all of the health care workers and all essential workers, in New York, Italy, France and all over the world!

Tonight I went out for groceries and as I walked down my street on the Upper Westside, I saw a beautiful young family sitting in their windowsill. I stopped and introduced myself and told them I was their neighbor and asked if I could make a photograph. They asked me what I was doing and I told them I was making a photo documentation of New York, for myself. It has been so nice to not come on strong saying to people I work for some prominent publication-but to tell the truth-I am making photographs for myself, and for the world, of this moment that affects us all. I asked them how they were doing. Maria, the mother told me, "Some days are hard and some not as much". I asked how the children were doing, Isabel, 3, and Milo, 2 months. They told me they have learned a lot about germs, and I replied that I couldn't imagine what that would feel like as a concern when you are three years old. They mentioned that Milo, 2 months, could tell that they were home much more often-and he sleeps less. 

As we spoke, suddenly, on the strike of 7pm, the whole street erupted in applause, and shouting of thanks to all of the healthcare workers and essential workers. This has happened now, every night for the past 5 nights. I know that this is happening all over New York, Italy, France, and likely all over the country. After making a few frames, I put down my camera and began to applaud and shout with all of my might as well. As Mark, the father, said to me afterwards-this is very cathartic. 

When the applause died down, Maria asked me how I was doing. Just the question meant a lot to me-from a person I had just met. This is a different story than any I have ever covered. I too and in the middle of this one. And I have a strong need, as I live alone at this time-to be with others-and the world. We are all in this together.

I will never forget soon after 9/11 when I was in a sports bar in New York to see the first game the New York Yankees played. When a Yankee made the first score-everyone in the bar jumped up in down like I had never see people do before-and the opposing team came out of the dug out to applaud and cheer. It didn't
make a bit of difference if the Yankees won the game that night-it was enough that they were back on the field.

It is going to take time and it will be hard, and it will change us forever. But I will tell you one thing-nothing can keep us down. And, I will clap and shout that as loud as I can, every night at 7pm, until we kick it in the teeth. With love, Peter 

Visual Diary Entry 14 — April 6, 2020

Diary Entry 14 — April 6, 2020

We all take this situation day by day, one day at a time. This is a moment in our lives for which we have no compass-no direction. As the days pass, thoughts roll up and down and all around. I am very careful each time I go out and wear a mask, gloves and keep a safe social distance from everyone. One of the things that has brought me pleasure-because I can tell how much pleasure it brings others-is when I see people with their dogs. I have photographed many people with their dogs these past few weeks in the midst of this crisis-and speaking about their dogs-is always a moment of happiness- of love, of not being alone. I have also witnessed many people who are experiencing this moment, alone. Probably never before has being alone, been so alone-as during this crisis-alone in so many ways. I am now alone, physically, in New York. l have much love in my life-so I don't feel alone, and know that I am not. But my heart is with all that are alone.

One thing that is very meaningful for me during this time, as I keep this visual diary-I am not trying to proof any points or illustrate any ideas and am not working on assignment-I am simply responding to what I see and feel, and the moments I come across that touch my heart. If there is one thing that could feel positive at this moment-it is this sense of freedom. This is partly my story-but it is also our story. When I have taught photographic workshops around the world-when the weeks are over-I am delighted when people have made interesting and compelling photographs-but the thing that always makes me feel most grateful-is when I have a sense that the week was a chance for someone to take stock of their life-and think about what they really care about-possibly offering a path forward on their journey. During this time-we all certainly have lots to time to take stock of in our lives, and think about what we really care about. For me, there is without doubt, aside from survival, one thing that I am so clear about that I care most about-and that is feeling and sharing love! We who feel love, are the most fortunate on this planet-and we must always think of those that don't have this good fortune-and when possible-share with others-some of the love that we know!

Visual Diary Entry 9 — March 31, 2020

Diary Entry 9 — March 31, 2020

We are clearly now at war-a serious war where we will lose more people to our common enemy of coronavirus than have been lost in many of the wars I have covered worldwide.  

Almost every day since the beginning of this crisis I go out with my camera, with mask and gloves, and am very careful to keep a social distance from all, and I return home alone. There is a new aspect to my documentation of this crisis-besides making photographs of the people I encounter, I spend much time speaking to everyone I encounter, and almost always ask their name, age, and ask them how they are making it. What has emerged so clearly is with this war, that is taking place in one of the places I call home, New York (I am also permanent resident of Paris and besides being American, I also now have French nationality), is that this war is our collective war-and in this instance-the battle is touching every person with little distinction-every person is a target of this enemy and every person has a story. Never before have I encountered a situation where it is clear that every person I encounter-every person-has an interesting and important story-and these stories have become and will become forever, ours’.

Yesterday, I walked to the Post Office, and before walking in, a man exited the Post Office wearing a mask that exuded the look of a bank robber. I told him that and he laughed, and we began to talk. Eric, 64, was an orphan originally from Detroit. He told me he had been a fashion model and had traveled the world and had made a good living- “but I was born in the gutter”. He was adopted and when he was an adult, he tracked down his birth mother. The first time he spoke to her on the phone, he said to his birth mother, “I’ll bet you think of me on my birthday” and she replied, “I don’t even know your birthday-I don’t even know your name”. He has worked out daily his whole life-and has always asked himself “am I ready to save my own life.” He explained with his frequent world travels for work- “I am used to self-isolating, and since I was an orphan-I have learned to appreciate gratitude for all”. 

I walked through Central Park and saw many people walking, jogging, sitting in reflection, all at safe social distance. I encountered a couple, Bob, 97, and Karen, 83. Karen told me,“I am stressed-I find myself double-thinking everything.” They were sitting on a bench and a young child ran by with its’ parent, and Karen said to me “Seeing children go by is life enhancing.” Bob was born in 1923 and has lived through the Depression and fought in Germany in World War II:” He told me he misses seeing his grandchildren and when I asked him after all he has seen, what he could teach me about life, and he replied, “stay close to your kids and be a good citizen.”

Martin, originally from Manchester, was playing the saxophone in the park. I asked him how he was handling this crisis and he told me, “music is a kind of defiance”.  This spoke to me deeply, as I have always felt that way profoundly about photography, and with this diary-I am fighting back. 

Earlier in the day, I encountered Patrick, 74, sitting alone on a bench at 80thand Broadway. He told me, “When the leaders become grown-ups -we’ll get this solved. I pray they really grow up. We have so many blessings on this earth to be happy about. It’s time for us to be more real. We got everything we need. All races. Got to give thanks to the creator for creating all of us. 

We have enough for everyone to be happy. The billionaires won’t be taken it to the grave. There are too many homeless people. We all fall down sometimes. People share with me; I share with you. That’s what makes the world grow. “

Under an underpass on the East side of Central Park, Chi, in her 20ties, originally from Tokyo played the Cello. Her music was profoundly beautiful, and she told that during this crisis she likes to play Bach and Tchaikovsky and music in G major. She said to me, “. Everything must be based on live and light. I pray for peace.” My mother was a pianist and every night of my childhood when I went to bed, I would hear her playing the piano. Listening to Chi, play such beautiful life affirming music at this time made me miss my mother who passed only 6 months ago-so much. When I left, I thanked Chi, and told her she made me think of my mother-and spontaneously I choked up and had a few tears. I was a bit embarrassed, and told Chi I was sorry, and she replied to me, a stranger, “I love you, be safe’. The love she was expressing was a love for our collective humanity. 

When I returned home last night, the news was full of a very dire and dark prediction of the number of deaths that will take place in the next weeks and possibly months, here in NY, the US, and worldwide. My mind kept taking me back to the scenes I had seen at Elmhurst Hospital in Queens only a few days before. In the middle of this coronavirus war-possibly what could be called World War III, there are so many heroes. When I go out each day wearing mask and gloves and always keep careful social distance with everyone, and return where I stay alone,  I am aware of the risks involved-but I feel it is essential that during this war, our war, that our collective story be documented with photojournalism, to express our collective now, for the present, and the future. With love, Peter

Visual Diary Entry 8 — March 30, 2020

Diary Entry 8 — March 30, 2020

Today I stayed home all day, and went out to buy some groceries. As I returned where I stay on a street on the Upper Westside, I saw a man standing on the sidewalk, waving with a gentle smile to someone in a window. I stopped and the gentleman departed, and in the window I saw Roxie, a 90 year old woman, who everyone knows on the this street. At this moment in her life, she can not walk, and she is always sitting at the window, and is known to almost all residents on the street. I made this photograph of her, and when I was finished, she put her hand to her mouth and blew me a kiss. I asked her is she was okay and she replied, "I am fine, and if I need anything I will give you a call". We are living through a serious storm that has blown into all of our lives. Roxie put everything into a certain perspective for me today. She has lived through 90 years of good and bad weather, and after all this time, she looks out at the world, happy to connect with everyone who lives near her, and gives us all hope and courage. If I can find and demonstrate only a fraction of the grace she shows, always, I will feel very blessed. And, this moment, and this photograph, remind me, with all of the beauty of the freedom to travel, there is glory, and light, to be noticed and found, right next door. With love, Peter 

Visual Diary Entry 7 — March 29, 2020

Diary Entry 7 — March 29, 2020

Today I went to the very heart of the storm of this crisis, Elmhurst Hospital, in Queens, which is possibly the most intense war zone in the United States at this moment. 

At the back of the hospital where dozens of ambulances were lined up, I spoke to an ambulance medic, Mike Galloway. He told me, “With 9/11, once it happened, you could see it coming. This is an invisible enemy. We don’t see what is coming. I could be sitting next to my partner and he could have it and we don’t know it. We don’t have enough protective gear and I’m not the only one that feels that way.” He works with an ambulance unit attached to Jamaica Hospital but now, attached to the New York Fire Department. 

A few minutes later I spoke to Ethan, 29, another ambulance worker. When we began to talk he was on his mobile phone, and stopped to speak to me-and said, “that’s my wife-she is scared for me” I asked him if he had a child and he said yes, and all of the sudden, over his phone came the loud beautiful voice of a child, “I love you daddy”. 

I didn’t cry at that moment but I do as I write this. There are so many heroes in the midst of this moment that affects the entire world-and most of them will go forever unnoticed. I wake up each day and go out, and I always keep at least 6 feet from all people, and wear a mask and gloves, and when I am finished I return home, where I stay alone. I am extremely careful with social distancing, but I think it is essential that at this moment in our collective life, that the stories of so many heroes, of all dimensions, be documented with photojournalism, helping to bring us together now, and for memory, forever. 

Behind the hospital, several ambulances pulled up with their sirens on, and ambulances workers would jump out and take off stretchers loaded with urgent care patients. It was not always clear which patients were suffering from coronavirus, or other ailments, but there was no doubt that coronavirus was over taking this moment. Daniel, 26, another ambulance worker told me, “It’s tough. It’s a lot at once. Had a lot of patients with symptoms. We call them fever coughs”. Carla, 32, an ambulance driver, told me, “You do what you got to do. We’re overwhelmed”. Another ambulance worker who preferred not to be photographed or named, said to me with the most beautiful soft voice, “it’s going to take time, but we will get through this….” She then walked away with her head down, asking for no recognition for her work-and once again, my life came across another hero that wakes up each day-does the best she can in the most dangerous circumstances, and looks ahead to life with hope.

Visual Diary Entry 16 — April 8, 2020

Diary Entry 16 — April 8, 2020

Some stories simply tell themselves. Yesterday I went out in the late afternoon, and encountered three women at different moments, and their stories, say so much about this moment, heroism, courage, grace, and the realities of our society, many of which are becoming more visible each day-but only when we share stories that would go otherwise untold, and remain invisible. 

Avisia, 38, originally from Guyana, is a nanny for a Manhattan family. She lives with the family, so she doesn’t have to travel back and forth between her home and theirs’. She has 6 of her own children and she told me that because she needs the money from her work for her family’s economic survival, she has sent them back to Guyana to be with relatives. During this crisis, she looks after the children of another family, a continent away from her own children-so they can survive. I asked her why chose to be so far from her own children and she replied- “I have to work-I have to support them.”.  Her husband is still in New York, and he works as a hospital worker and she showed me a photograph of him in his protective gear at the hospital, and she is able to see him only briefly every two weeks during this time. This story, made me think more strongly than ever-at a time when the leadership of the country and their followers are so fearful of immigration-what debt as a nation we all owe immigrants like Avisia for their selfless courage and grace-and to what extend a nation built upon immigration should be so grateful for what millions of immigrants do each day-to enable this nation and society to survive and be as humanly beautiful as it can be. 

A bit later, I encountered walking by the reservoir in Central Park, Melissa, 39 who works in arts management. She told me that she was still working on projects already established before the crisis but feared she would soon have to file for unemployment. Melissa is very proud of her Korean American heritage. Born in the U.S. to Korean American parents, she told me she has traveled widely and never felt fear. This sentiment has changed since the beginning of this crisis-she related how one day recently when was walking in Central Park, and a 50-60 Caucasian man approached her and asked her if she was a drug addict and needed help. When she ignored him, he called her a “f…ing piece of s…t”. Melissa loves New York and told me that she hopes that this city which is known for having people that push themselves so hard-may take this moment of self-care with them into the future, and that she hopes this moment will encourage others to be more kind to each other. Melissa volunteers several days a week at a soup kitchen in the Bowery called the Bowery Mission. My heart was so touched by this example of a person, having reason to fear for their own survival-how she so humbly and heroically risks her life several times a week to help people less fortunate than herself. 

As I walked home, I saw Jamie in a windowsill on a street near where I stay. Jamie, 26, is a pastry chef and is now unemployed because of the crisis. She sat in the windowsill, with a bottle of Tequila, wearing a welder’s dust protection mask, and was on the phone using a “House Party” app to speak simultaneously with friends in Texas, Virginia, and Maine. She told me she will likely to have to move in with her parents and with a laugh said- “they can’t deny me”. Her father works arranging supplies for the Army and has been involved in equipping the Javits Center that has opened up in New York a new temporary hospital center with beds for the surge of coronavirus patients in this city that is the epicenter of the crisis in the world at this moment. Jamie told me she is fine as long as she stays inside and told me she has watched many television shows of late-she asked me if I had seen the “The Tiger King” (I have not) and told me. “you should-its’ worth it”.

Visual Diary Entry 6 — March 28, 2020

Diary Entry 6 — March 28, 2020

Today, I saw a lone elder woman named Mary, sitting on a bench in the rain at a place only yards from where I lived for seven years at 133rd and Lenox in the center of Harlem. We spoke and I asked how she was making it and she replied, “by the grace of God”. She looked to be about the same as my mother who recently passed at 94. As I photographed, two young men walked by and said to me, “why don’t you give her your umbrella”. I walked up to her and handed her my umbrella that I had just bought an hour earlier. I turned and look up the street towards the two young men, and saw that they had been watching me and they broke out into big smiles and put their thumbs up. I wish it had been my idea first, but as I walked away-it occurred to me that in this moment, not only are we all together in this situation, but we can help each other become better people.

I walked this morning for hours, almost 80 street blocks. I always keep at least 6 feet from all people, and wear a mask and gloves, and when I am finished I return home, where I stay alone. I am extremely careful with social distancing, but I think it is essential that this moment in our collective life be documented with photojournalism. This morning, I woke up and saw a video of life in Venice-a place I’ve been very often and love so much. This video of this unique city across the earth from where I am, but so close to my heart-reminded me so much of our common humanity. 

In New York which is the epicenter of this crisis in the United States, and now has the most cases of coronavirus in the world, every life is affected by this moment, and every person I encounter has a story that is part of our collective story. So many of the people I encounter are true heroes, people doing essential work, or people simply struggling to get by. Aldalkiris, 21, works the cash register at a local grocery store. Kevin is a garbage collector. Markus is homeless and sits hoping to receive some money to eat-and when I asked him how he was doing, he told me, “it’s rough”. I asked him if he was scared and he told me “no, I was scared when I went to Nam (Vietnam).” Joe is a doorman who works in a building on the Upper Westside, and has to take a bus to Queens near Elmhurst Hospital where he told me, “there are so many dead they have to put them in a freezer truck”. I came across a young man named Seimier and we talked for quite awhile and he said to me, “you know, you are the first person that has spoken to me today”. Two elder gentleman were standing at social distance speaking to each other on Lenox Avenue near Harlem Hospital. I asked them how they were making it, and one of the men replied, “welI I woke up again today”. I continued to ask how he was making it, and he offered, “we’re never really making it-every time we come close they come up with something to keep you down further”. Mary, a stay-home mother returning from the grocery store told me, “we’re doing the best we can”.

 Each day I venture out during this moment of our collective world crisis, to document as safely as possible this moment of history, I am reminded of both the individual strength and courage of so many individuals, and of us, all together, collectively, like Mary the mother, just trying to do the best we can. Last night, around 6pm, on the street where I stay on the Upper Westside, I heard loud applause and shouting as if there was something important happening on the street. I ran outside with my camera, and at every window on a densely populated street of 5 story buildings-every window was full of people spontaneously clapping and shouting-and this went on for 20 minutes. I asked someone what this was about and they told me it was a way to thank the healthcare workers in New York. I too clapped hard for more than 15 minutes, and then went back inside, and sat down and cried. I will be very appreciative if you will share these photographs and stories. 

Visual Diary Entry 5 — March 27, 2020

Diary Entry 5 — March 27, 2020

Today I have been inside most of the day. I went out to buy some food at a local grocery store, and I came across Priscilla, worshiping the sun. She was careful to be six feet from her neighbor and I stayed that distance while making this photograph. We spoke for a short while. She told me, "it is so sad to stay inside all day-I had to come out and get some sun". We all understand well her sentiments. Some times there are people and gestures that become a metaphor for something many are feeling and thinking. 
With my very best to all, with love.

Diary Entry 4 — March 26, 2020

Diary Entry 4 — March 26, 2020

Today was a day of meeting heroes and encountering ironies.
New York is now the epicenter of the coronavirus crisis in the world. The hearts of this city continue to beat, and there are so many essential stories of courage, and life going on and how people are coping during this lockdown. While wearing mask, and gloves and keeping always a careful six feet distance with all with whom I come in contact, I think it is essential to share with the world the stories of this moment through photojournalism. I also return each day to where I live, alone. 
As I moved carefully around the city today, I encountered so many heroes-doctors, nurses, policemen, subway workers, home health aides, union representatives, cleaning women, and many others. There was a strong irony to this day. On a day when the United States and in particular New York now have the most confirmed cases of coronavirus-it was a gloriously beautiful early spring day. Weather and light bring back memories-I will always remember that Sept. 11, was one of the most beautiful Indian summer days I had ever seen-on that tragic day that also changed our world. 
I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and at one point, got down low to photograph an approaching person hearing a mask jogging alone on the bridge. Just as the person arrived in front of me-she jumped in the air. I called out and asked her name and where she was from. She replied that her name was Yanan and I asked where she was from and she told me Wuhan, China. On Wall Street, I met an investment banker Arthur who told me he had grown up for a period homeless, and so he is optimistic that things will get better-that this is temporary. After speaking to Arthur, I turned the corner and as I passed the address of #14 Wall Street, I saw a lone woman sitting on the sidewalk, begging for money to buy food. On a day when Congress was voting on the biggest economic stimulus package in US history, I met MJ, a freelance fashion stylist, and he asked me, "what will $1,200 do for a person like me living in New York who won't have work for months?". 
I wonder if many of others are going through what I am feeling today. My emotions feel often like a rollercoaster-most of the time, particularly when I am sharing the visual stories of so many that are true heroes in this historic moment-I am uplifted and their example gives me courage and hope. Then there are moments when so much of this new reality and its' unknown and how it is changing our world in known and unknown ways-challenges the spirit. But, when I finish my day walking and encounter Lesley, a 46 year old subway worker, standing with her big open smile with pride-and who tells me that she has just come from disinfecting the 23rd Street subway stop as part of her job-I say to myself-if Lesley can be this strong and generous and courageous-I certainly owe it to her and so many to do the same. I was in New York on 9/11, and I am here now. As we all know-there is only one New York-and what a special, strong, amazing city of wonderful people. With love and God Bless. 

Visual Diary Entry 3 — March 24, 2020

Diary Entry 3 — March 24, 2020

New York is now the epicenter of the coronavirus crisis in the world. The hearts of this city continue to beat, and there are so many essential stories of courage, and life going on and how people are coping during this lockdown. While wearing mask, and gloves and keeping always a careful six feet distance with all with whom I come in contact, I think it is essential to share with the world the stories of this moment through photojournalism. I also return each day to where I live, alone. .Yesterday I went out and again walked north. I came across Clifford Jordan standing at a bus stop hoping to receive some money to help him eat at this time. At the Happy Warrior Playground on the Upper Westside, 6 year old Taji, was shooting baskets at a safe distance from everyone else, with his mother Latoine. She told me Taji really misses school and Taji told me was going to grow up to be the next Kobe Bryant. He seemed already like a champion to me. Loren was walking with her dog Molly, and Joe looked through the window of a famous deli Barney Green Grass—The Sturgeon King. Jacob, a nurse at Sloan Kettering jumped rope at a safe distance. Rosario from Guatemala waited for bus and Rummy returned home, basketball in hand from shooting baskets alone in a park. At the 125th Street Harlem train station—a mainstay station for many people working in the city who commute in each day, I came across several of New York's heroes of this moment, Haymar, 29, a medical student from Myanmar who works in a Harlem medical clinic, C. Marsh, a doctor on his way home, and Linda, an oncology nurse who works at Mount Sinai. I will never forget the night of 9/11 when I was in the rubble of ground zero and a nurse walked up to me at 3am in the morning and offered me her mask. I couldn't accept it, but will never forget her selfless kindness and gesture. Yesterday, after speaking to Linda, the nurse, for awhile about how this moment is affecting her—she reached into her bag and offered me an extra mask for future days. 

All over the city, I saw people very carefully keeping a social distance from each other, and I did too. In the midst of this crisis, the heart beat of the world's most dynamic city is certainly beating much slower, but the hearts of so many that I come across each day, remind me profoundly of how strong the heart of this city is.

Visual Diary Entry 2 — March 23, 2020

Diary Entry 2 — March 23, 2020

It rained coronavirus cats and dogs today in New York City—both figuratively and literally. New York is ground zero of the pandemic in the US. Late afternoon, I went out, and walked north on the Upper Westside. Within a few hours, I came across so much of the reality of this moment—and of the melting pot of New York—and the courageous people that perform essential jobs to keep life going for so many. I encountered Laurent, who was out for groceries, and as I photographed him—he looked up at the sky and declared, "it is raining, but it is a beautiful day!". I came across Natalia, from Odessa in the Ukraine, standing alone on the sidewalk at 83rd Street. A postal worker, delivering mail without a mask, Jason, told me with a smile, "I am not scared". A bus driver opened his door, and welcomed a photograph with a smile before taking off at a light. I walked past a laundromat where a woman working with a mask went about her chores in front of a washing machine, while Diallo, a young woman from Guinée. sat waiting for her wash to finish. A young man with a baseball hat prepared to take out the trash for a building on the Upper Westside. A doorman stood behind revolving doors with his mask on—proudly wearing his doorman's uniform. Finally, as I arrived at 96th street, I took a cab, and asked Mohammed, a driver from Bangladesh how he felt, and he told me, "I am scared to death". I was very careful to keep a distance from all I photographed and felt somewhat comforted by the rain coming down heavily. My life must go on, and I will be careful—I return to my home alone—and am very careful with gloves and mask, and put the clothes in the laundry immediately and jump in the shower and wash my hands often. But both my heart, and these times, needs to carefully bear witness to the humanity of this moment—and as carefully as possible—and to indelibly convey the courage and hearts of so many—in the middle of a war zone, in the heart of the most energetic city in the world—that fights back, as it can.

Visual Diary Entry 1 — March 21, 2020

Diary Entry 1 — March 21, 2020

I woke up today and decided that with the risks involved, I needed to go out and help be the eyes for a city that is in lockdown. I've been to many war zones in the world over a long period of time. I spent the late afternoon and night in the rubble of ground zero on 9/11. We have entered a new form of war zone—more mysterious, unknown, may last longer than some, and will strike in the middle of where most of us call home. 

I walked several hours through Manhattan and returned on the subway. Often there was no one around, except more homeless people than I've ever seen—this is likely more noticeable because often there is no one else around. The subway had a feel of being a form of dark, risky, tomb of necessity. I confess to be a bit shaken upon my return from this day. I share here much of what I saw and felt. I hope you will share with others. I'm not ashamed to say that I I have shed a few tears this afternoon. There are moments when duty calls, and it certainly felt that way for me this morning—and I send love to all.