We stepped out of the hotel a few days ago, glanced at a door together, and Lauren and I looked at each other, each pulling out a camera. We would and did take many photos of many doors throughout our wandering in the city, both of us dazzled by ornate stone carvings, archways with Hobbit-like wooden doors and other varieties of entry from the outside to the inside.
Why doors? Why not? I mean, they just grab your attention like the eyes that we see first when meeting someone new. And the doors of the city are so beautiful, sexy, intriguing and downright gorgeous,
There’s also the mystery: what is behind that door? Who lives there? What is their life like? What could they be eating right now at the kitchen table while looking at the paper, or are they petting some spoiled kitty cats while
As for our landscape, we found doors of wonder in Midtown, near the Cloisters way up north, close to the Staten Island ferry at the southern tip of the island, in the East Village, in the West Village, in Chelsea of course (where the doors are especially well-appointed), and downtown, uptown and in between. We also found the entryway that leads toward a door we knew well: that of our father’s stamp store, located once in the subway arcade. No matter that it was locked and closed, mostly out of business since 9/11 (our dad’s store is just three blocks away). It’s home
We stepped out of the hotel a few days ago, glanced at a door together, and Lauren and I looked at each other, each pulling out a camera. We would and did take many photos of many doors throughout our wandering in the city, both of us dazzled by ornate stone carvings, archways with Hobbit-like wooden doors and other varieties of entry from the outside to the inside.
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