CHRISTOPHER LANGE
Photographer
ask / tell
917 • 558 • 0476
chrisplange@gmail.com
MY WEBSITE
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SUMMER THUNDER by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
I made this photograph last summer, standing on Vesey St. in Battery Park. The light had been incredible that afternoon, a mixture of hazy sun and dark skies. Eventually the clouds reached their breaking point and the torrent began.
The business day was coming to a close and all the suit-and-ties leaving work darted about like confused cats, hoping to stay dry at all costs. I constantly wiped the eyepiece of my viewfinder, which seemed to fog up again the instant I put my eye to it.
The water rushed over the curbs , ousting the businessmen from their hiding spot as another gust stole an umbrella. I shoved my camera inside my bag, stepped into the downpour from the cover of my awning, and walked to the corner of North End.
My shirt soaked through in the 20 seconds it took me to get there.
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Walking to French Roast on New Years Eve, I ended up behind this girl with some balloons who was in a damn hurry to get wherever she was going.
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11TH & 4TH by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
This place has always seemed a lot more sinister from the outside than it actually is. Walking past it in my earlier years always reminded me of some seedy mob hangout, a la Goodfellas. I always secretly hope that when I look inside I’ll see three guys in suits standing around one of the pool tables, cigar smoke billowing from their mouths as they laugh raucously.
“Funny how?”
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These were strange nights.
“I’m the vampire of my own heart
One of those utter derelicts
Condemned to eternal laughter,
But who can no longer smile.”
from L’Héautontimorouménos, Charles Baudelaire. -
A light drizzle had just begun to fall as we flew across the bridge, away from Manhattan and into the quiet darkness.
With a five hour drive ahead of us, and two large cups of bad coffee in hand, we turned the music up and bid the streets we love farewell.
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AFTER DINNER by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
Charlie and Cassandra had dinner with me at the Brooklyn Heights Wine Bar a few Sundays ago. The food was great, and we all had a good time.
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UNTITLED by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
This is a Manhattan bound 3 train, the next stop is Wall St.
Stand clear of the closing doors please.
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PASTIS, 4 AM, CLOSING by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
Back in the summer time I used to go into Pastis at closing time to chat with Joe and Teddy before going home. They’d lock the doors and have a bite to eat, and I’d have a glass of Côtes du Rhône on the house. We would talk for about half an hour or so in the empty restaurant, and it always felt a bit surreal because during business hours the place is constantly packed.
Sitting at the end of the bar, looking over the vacant tables which had been abuzz with conversation and inebriation only an hour earlier only made it seem that much more silent.
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