Throughout my photography of cars, I am intrigued by the way in which mechanical forms and mechanistic emotions interact with the surrounding environment.
This grouping of photographs includes cars in a variety of places that I found uniquely compelling. Photographing cars, especially on film, is flooded with feelings of nostalgia in a way that seems to remove notions of temporality.
Coney Island is a place that has always captured my imagination. Growing up in Brooklyn, it has always been a place I have had a childlike fascination with. For me, Coney Island seems to exist somewhere between fantasy and reality; it feels familiar and unpredictable at the same time. It is uncharacteristically beautiful for how quintessentially Brooklyn it is and possesses a beauty that runs deeper than the surface. Deeper than the cigarette buds in the sand and the empty Nathan’s wrappers that float out of overflowing trash cans.
The beauty of Coney Island lies within contradiction. It is also a place that weighs heavily into the narrative of my childhood. Previously my perspective of Coney Island was incredibly two-dimensional. To confront this was an urge that inspired me to uncover another side of this place. I wondered what it felt like without its excitement—when more birds populated the Boardwalk than people. In this confrontation, I was taken aback by how eerily lifeless everything felt. Over a period of five months, as I explored Coney Island, I watched as the ice thawed, as did the personality and soul of Coney Island.