In March, 2020 our lives changed in ways we could not fathom. Weeks of isolation, mourning and then coping, led to acceptance. During this time in New York city, the window was my vortex to the outside world, a city that felt like nothing like the little of it I had known before.  Overnight faces became unrecognizable. Now, they were singular bodies floating in a limbo space, disjointed from each other, no longer a group or community but existing only as unrecognizable individuals. 

I photographed people passing by, mostly singular, very rarely in twos, in a neighborhood that used to be awash with sounds from the neighboring school, supermarket and post office. I observed through photographs the people that made up my neighborhood, whose existence I relied upon to make sense of my own. These images function as an abstraction of the lives we live now. How much do we really see? Do our eyes deceive us or do we have the potential to sift through a barrage of photographic information that we are locked up with inside our homes? Like this moment, nothing is clear, not even photographs. Our eyes struggle to make sense of what we see. A large mass of photographs we consume appear in grids, a form of digital order, like a puzzle, to arrive at a larger and hopefully, truer picture. It is through these shadows and silhouettes that these photographs prompt the viewer to re-configure what we see and how we see it. Will time change how we view the same images?