CHRISTOPHER LANGE
Photographer
ask / tell
917 • 558 • 0476
chrisplange@gmail.com
MY WEBSITE
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ROADSHOW II by CHRISTOPHER LANGE
One of the professors at school (specifically, the head of neon, if you couldn’t tell) had his class build a large wooden framework to mount atop his car, showing off a bunch of their work from the semester.
Now, this professor and I are fairly close (he gave me my Nikon F3/T), and when he took the car out for a spin, I asked him if he would be down to let Devon and I hitch a ride. He amicably agreed, and asked me where I would like to be picked up. The bar on Main St. was decided upon, and an hour and a half later, I left the bar, and to the amazement of all the bros, biddies, and frat kids, got into this moving carnival.
We picked Devon up by the art building, and drove around the entire village, shouting and flashing the neon at various other cars and passersby. After buzzing the president of the school’s house with our strobing neonmobile, we drove down the grassy hill that is most certainly not intended for use by cars.
He’s a cool guy, our teacher.
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Everyone is inundated with chaos, moving from place to place.
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Her legs were stretched out, imitating the lines of the floorboards.
Maybe even outdoing them.
The half empty cup of black coffee rested by her side, a plume of steam rising from the lip of the mug.
Late morning light streamed in through the window, creating soft patches on the weathered boards, while accentuating her lithe build.
I regretted having to leave on such short notice, but when I stepped towards the door, she remained seated.
Then I walked away without looking back.
cl.
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∞
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The car was empty, save for myself and three or four others, silently sitting as we thundered through the subterranean spider’s web that makes up the subway system. It was getting late, and as we pulled out of a station somewhere in Brooklyn, an express train on the adjacent track matched our speed.
I slowly raised the camera to my eye, thumbing the advance into position, should I find it necessary to expose more than one frame. The shutter’s whisper was heard by no one, and, confident that the image was the one I wanted, I placed the camera back on my knee, listlessly jostling around as per the movements of the train.
Click.
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Corvette - 11.13.2010 (by Christopher Lange)
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