This is very nice: The latest episode of the BBC radio program “GREAT LIVES” profiles Oliver Sacks. I was honored to join the Irish neurologist & author Suzanne O’Sullivan to discuss his life and career. The biggest highlight: several very well chosen clips from the BBC archives of Oliver himself, including a wonderful bit with him reading from “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.” 30 minutes long.
Articles posted by Bill Hayes
His love of language was a gift in itself.
By Bill Hayes
The beloved neurologist and author Oliver Sacks was a man of many enthusiasms — for ferns, cephalopods, motorbikes, minerals, swimming, smoked salmon and Bach, to name a few — but none more so than for words.
When I say he loved words, I don’t simply mean within the context of being a writer of numerous classic books — “Awakenings,” “The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat,” “Musicophilia.” Even if he had never written a single one, I am sure Oliver would still have been that funny fellow who took giant dictionaries to bed for light reading (aided by a magnifying glass). He delighted in etymology, synonyms and antonyms, slang, swear words, palindromes, anatomical terms, neologisms (but objected, in principle, to contractions). He could joyfully parse the difference between homonyms and homophones, not to mention homographs, in dinner table conversation. (He also relished saying those three words — that breathy “H” alliteration — in his distinctive British accent.)
“Every day a word surprises me,” he once commented, beaming, apropos of nothing other than that a word had suddenly popped into his head. Often this happened while swimming — “ideas and paragraphs” would develop as he backstroked, after which he’d rush to the dock or pool’s edge to get the words down on paper — as Dempsey Rice has captured in an enchanting forthcoming film, “The Animated Mind of Oliver Sacks.” Back at home, he would often — as he had for years — write thoughts and ideas directly on the pages of books he was reading.
Through much of our six-year relationship I referred to Oliver as a “walking OED” (Oxford English Dictionary) because he could recall spellings and definitions so accurately. And yet he remained modest, never flaunting his extraordinary vocabulary and always deferring to a dictionary for confirmation if in doubt — either the OED, of which he had the full set of 20 volumes, or the far more compact and idiosyncratic Chamber’s Dictionary, a copy of which his favorite aunt had given him on his ninth birthday.
Oliver loved words so much, he often dreamed of them, and sometimes dreamed them up. One morning, six years ago, I found a phrase he’d written on the white board in the kitchen. All it said was “5 a.m. Nepholopsia.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I said while making coffee.
Oliver chuckled, then went on to describe an elaborate dream he’d had that night in which he was stuck on an alien planet where anthropomorphic clouds turned menacing and “murderously” tipped over the Land Rover he was driving — “a cloud nightmare,” he added, as if it were hardly his first. He had written the note upon waking at 5 a.m., so as not to forget it. (He reported his dreams to the Freudian psychoanalyst he saw twice a week.) “Nepholopsia,” he told me, “either means ‘seeing clouds’ or ‘being enveloped by clouds.’” His brow furrowed — wait a moment, now he wasn’t so sure. “Let’s look it up in the good book,” and together we proceeded straight to the OED (“My Bible,” as Oliver, a devout atheist, often referred to it).
There, we found variations on “nephology,” meaning the study of clouds (from the Greek root “nephos”), but no “nepholopsia.” Turns out, he’d accidentally coined the word. We laughed about this, but in fact it wasn’t the first time. Oliver made up “musicophilia,” meaning an intense love of music, which hadn’t existed before he came up with it as the title for his 2007 book. (But he was always quick to point out that “musicophobia” — a hatred of music — had long been part of the English language. He felt that musicophobia appreciated his invention: “Now it has an antonym,” he observed.)
It was this love of words — etymophilia, if you will — and of the act of writing (which he considered a form of thinking) that moved Oliver to tell me one day shortly after I’d moved to New York in the spring of 2009, “You must keep a journal!” It was not a suggestion but an instruction.
I followed his advice straightaway, writing that exchange down on a scrap of paper, which I still have to this day. I hadn’t kept a journal since I was a teenager, but I began chronicling impressions of my life in New York and — when they were just too fantastic to resist — lines spoken by Oliver himself, a near daily occurrence. He was, simply put, chronically quotable.
My New York journal grew and grew as the years passed but I never reread it — not until I decided to write a memoir about my life in New York and with Oliver. I thought reading it would jog my memory. Instead, I found something truly surprising: Parts of the book had already been written — scenes and long stretches of dialogue between Oliver and me — as if they’d quietly been waiting for me to hear them again.
Although Oliver did not live to see me complete that book, “Insomniac City,” I am sure he would not have been surprised that it had its genesis in a journal. After all, many of his own essays, articles and book ideas originated in one of his handwritten journals.
Now, three years after Oliver’s death on Aug. 30, 2015, so many of his words are still with me, still make me smile, still move me. Not long after he received a diagnosis of terminal cancer, for instance, he looked up from his desk one night and said something seemingly out of the blue that I will never forget: “The most we can do is to write — intelligently, creatively, critically, evocatively — about what it is like living in the world at this time.”
While he happened to say this to me, I sensed that he also meant it for others, for anyone anywhere who loves words as much as Oliver Sacks did.
Bill Hayes is the author of “Insomniac City,” a memoir that recounts his life in New York City and his relationship with Oliver Sacks.
The Landmarks That Made New York a Cultural Capital – NYT “T” Magazine
Where art, hip-hop, AIDS activism, break dancing — and the enduring notion that New York City is the center of the world — were born, and born anew.
By Bill Hayes – April 17, 2018
ONE OF THE realities of living in New York is that you cannot become too attached to specific places any more than you can become attached to certain people in your life: the waitress you chat with every weekend, the parking garage guy, the newsstand vendor from whom you buy a paper. Often, they disappear, and you may never learn why. Why was that building torn down? Why did that bar close overnight? Whatever happened to the bartender? And what about Mohammed? He was here yesterday.
Place is as crucial to the architecture of memory as it is to dreaming, and like those New Yorkers who seem to disappear, spaces themselves carry their own memories here. Departed landmarks like CBGB or the Mudd Club are not so much addresses in downtown Manhattan as they are touchstones in the collective consciousness, occasionally reminding us of what was and of how much has changed — not least, ourselves. CBGB is where a 16-year-old Adam Horovitz — soon to be known as Ad-Rock of the Beastie Boys — opened for punk legends Bad Brains in 1982; the Mudd Club is where, a few years earlier, Talking Heads, performing just days after the release of “Fear of Music,” coolly name-checked both spots in the iconic song “Life During Wartime.” (“This ain’t no Mudd Club or CBGB / I ain’t got time for that now.”) Moments like these still haunt the city — half recalled, half imagined — even now that the Mudd Club is a condo building where a unit sold recently for $3.6 million, or CBGB has been colonized by designer John Varvatos, plundering the cultural heritage of the very building he now occupies.
These images are perhaps clearer to those of us who weren’t here to experience them firsthand, whose vision of New York was shaped by stories of and from the disappeared. In 1983, I was in college in Northern California, living in a drab ground-floor apartment just off campus, and on the verge of coming out. Not a place or an age I wish to return to for longer than a flash of remembering. Not a place or an age I wished to be back then either. Where I wanted to be, or thought I wanted to be, existed in the pages of publications like The Village Voice, where photos of Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat at Club 57 made New York into a goal, a place to try to reach. In the gay literary magazine Christopher Street, read surreptitiously on visits to bookstores in San Francisco, I glimpsed not places so much as states of mind: the notion of being both openly gay and a serious writer — indeed, of being a gay writer, at the time still a radical thought — as epitomized in its pages by Edmund White, Vito Russo, George Stambolian, Michael Denneny and others.
By the time I actually moved here, in 2009, at age 48, most of those places from the early ’80s (and many of the people) were long gone, as were nightspots I’d only heard about — Danceteria, Paradise Garage and what was once Madonna’s stomping ground, the Fun House. Certain landmarks remained — like the Stonewall Inn, the birthplace of modern gay rights in New York, or the Kettle of Fish bar, once a popular hangout for Bob Dylan and Jack Kerouac, and now a sports bar for fans of the Green Bay Packers. Christopher Street seemed to carry the memory of Christopher Street magazine like an aging face carries the memory of its youthful glamour. In the years since that journal started publishing in 1976 and its shuttering in 1995, the city had been ravaged by crack and AIDS, cleaned up and turned outrageously expensive. The past sometimes seeps through, buried as it is beneath layers of time and history, and inevitably, the present suffers by comparison. I am often reminded of this — told this, really — by people my age who lived here through all those years.
AND YET I dismiss such wistfulness privately. New York isn’t what it was, true; it is something different. But whatever its faults, different is always interesting. To get too attached to New York is to invite the city to break your heart, over and over again.
When I moved into my current apartment, I had a view of the Hudson River; in certain seasons, I could see the sun set on the water on some nights. Then, one day six years ago, I noticed construction starting down near the waterside. I watched over the next year as a building went up, floor by floor: the new Whitney Museum. It was being built on burial grounds of a sort: the meatpacking district, a neighborhood populated in the ’80s by butchers and truckers during the day, and, at night, by gay men spilling out of bars and sex clubs like the Mine Shaft and Anvil, all long since vanished, replaced by restaurants and retail stores.
The Whitney now blocks my view of the water almost entirely, like a gigantic thumb. But however indifferent I feel at times about the art exhibited inside, I’ve come to think of the museum as lovely. Even so, I don’t take it for granted. One day, another building will rise and block out my view of the museum. Until then, I try to appreciate what I see from here — like the rays of tangerine-colored sunlight that bounce off the Whitney’s pearly facade in the evening — without comparing it to what was there before. Because what is is what matters most. What was will only make you blue in New York.
I am happy to report that my first book, “Sleep Demons” (2001), long out of print, is now available in a new edition, with a new preface and cover, from the University of Chicago Press. Of the updated edition, P.D. Smith writes in The Guardian: “Part memoir, part scientific history, this is an intimate and beautifully written book that brings the research alive in a heartfelt and deeply personal narrative.”
And, Maria Popova of Brain Pickings notes: “Insomniacs everywhere: This gem by Bill Hayes is for you.” Full article here.
Many thanks to the University of Chicago Press and to my editor, Nancy Miller.
Author and photographer Bill Hayes is originally from Spokane, Washington, a city not usually associated with strolling, or with producing flaneurs. But Hayes does love walking and he does love taking pictures.
As the Paris Review says, the flaneur is not just a stroller, but a “passionate wanderer emblematic of 19th-century French literary culture.”
“Strictly speaking, I don’t consider myself a flaneur,” Hayes said. “In fact, I’m afraid I wasn’t even aware of the French tradition of flanerie. I had, of course, read Susan Sontag’s ‘On Photography’ [Sontag has a chapter on flanerie and street photography in the book] and although I do love much of Sontag’s nonfiction, that particular book never made a huge impact on me. I think I found it a little too self-consciously contrary — especially her words on [Diane] Arbus!”
I ask Hayes how he would describe his style of photography.
“Well, certainly street photography is a good description. But I never set out to ‘be’ something, or act in some ‘way,’ particularly with a camera,” he said. “Instead, my taking up a camera and exploring New York came from a combination of natural curiosity, intense loneliness (my longtime partner in San Francisco had died unexpectedly and suddenly not too long before I moved to NYC and I didn’t know many people here) and simple joy in what I was discovering and seeing. And a desire to create pictures (which were at first simply for myself), something which I had wanted to do for a long, long time.”
Of the 150 images in the book, some fifteen were taken in Brooklyn. Among the most memorable: two cooks on a break behind a deli in Brooklyn Heights, a Crown Heights couple bundled up and holding hands on a blustery winter’s day and two moving men playing cards in the back of their van in Greenpoint. Hayes possesses the rare gift of making the quotidian look singular.
I begin the interview by asking him if he was intimidated by all the New York street photographers who have preceded him. The following are edited excerpts of our conversation:
Brooklyn Eagle: With so many iconic New York City street photographers – Berenice Abbott, Paul Strand, Sid Grossman, Helen Levitt, Ruth Orkin – having already photographed so encyclopedically, were you worried that there was nothing new to capture?
Bill Hayes: (Laughing) No, I wasn’t worried because this is my experience of New York, my New York. I wasn’t trying to imitate someone else but just to photograph the city the way I saw it and the way I was exploring it. And the truth is that, at the outset when I moved here, I didn’t have in mind that I would do a book and have a show. I was doing a fair amount of picture-taking and in the process falling in love with New York City.
Eagle: And you moved here from San Francisco?
BH: Well, I moved here in 2009 from San Francisco, where I had lived for 25 years, but I’m originally from Spokane. I was raised in Spokane and went to college in the Bay Area. So before I moved here, all my life had been spent on the West Coast.
Eagle: Who were the photographers who influenced you?
BH: I wouldn’t say “influenced,” I would say “inspired” me. The top three would definitely be Diane Arbus, Garry Winogrand and Peter Hujar.
Eagle: So that’s your holy trinity?
BH: Yes. And Arbus I discovered very early. As I mentioned, I grew up in Spokane. There was only one nice bookstore. And when I was about 14 or 15 I discovered the classic ‘Aperture Monograph.’ And it made a huge impact for its view of New York City, for its subject matter. Also for the really straight-forward, clean way she takes portraits — very straight on. That definitely had a lasting impact on me.
Eagle: And what about Winogrand?
BH: It wasn’t until later that I got to know Winogrand’s work. When I moved to San Francisco, one of my first jobs was at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. And the same year I started there, Sandra Philips was appointed curator of photography. Now I was just this low-level person working in the communications office, but I wrote the press release for her appointment and we got to know each other. And she used to let me tag along while she was assembling and putting together shows. Every lunch break, I’d be following her around, from gallery to gallery. And during my time there she did a seminal Winogrand show. So I learned a lot about Winogrand and fell in love with his work. Different from Arbus … I loved the speed of his work and the joy he took in photographing New York City. Now my New York City work is very different from his; I’m doing portraits and his work was much more “invisible” street photography.
Eagle: Now during all this time were you yourself photographing?
BH: No, and I think that’s important for you to understand. I was not photographing. I didn’t pick up a camera and start photographing until 2007. But in all those years I was absorbing and paying attention and I loved photography. I was always going to gallery and museum photography shows and I began to imagine the kind of photography I wanted to do. So when the time finally came I was just ready.
Eagle: can you talk a bit about Peter Hujar, the third photographer who inspired you?
BH: Hujar came later, around the time when [Robert] Mapplethorpe sort of exploded. I was very interested in Mapplethorpe’s work for sure but I was more drawn to Hujar, whose work I find more restrained, of course [compared to Mapplethorpe], and more elegant. He did do street photography but it is his portraits I really love. I think what I’m trying to do with my photograph is to bring that same Hujar elegance, that same sort of hushed quality, to my street photography.
Eagle: So at what point did you begin photographing?
BH: When I moved to New York City in 2009 is when I seriously began photographing. I had bought a camera in 2007 in San Francisco and did a little bit there, but San Francisco doesn’t have the kind of street life that we have here. But when I moved here I almost immediately went out and started taking the kind of photographs that I still take today and that are in “How New York Breaks Your Heart.”
Eagle: Were you still an avid photography exhibition-goer? Did you see shows at Museum of Modern Art, at the Metropolitan, the Whitney Museum of American Art?
BH: Yes, always, often with my late partner Oliver Sacks. He was knowledgeable about a lot of things and not surprisingly he was extremely knowledgeable about the history of photography. As a boy he had loved chemistry, so much so that he wanted to be a chemist. And he had his own darkroom at home and he loved the chemistry of photography. So he knew a lot about that side of photography. And we went to see everything from 19 century photography exhibitions to contemporary shows at galleries.
Eagle: How did you and Oliver first meet?
BH: We met when Oliver wrote me a letter. I was still living in San Francisco at the time (2008) and out of the blue I got a letter in the mail with the return address “Oliver Sacks.” Of course I knew his work, but nothing more. He had read my most recent book “The Anatomist,” a nonfiction narrative account of the story behind the 19th-century classic text “Gray’s Anatomy.” He simply wrote to say how much he’d enjoyed it. I wrote back and then a correspondence ensued. We met in person once before I actually moved to New York, but we didn’t become involved and fall in love until after I moved here. We would go often on Friday or Saturday nights to the Met to see exhibits. [Note: Oliver Sacks died in August of 2015.]
Eagle: When you were shooting the photos for this book, did you literally carry your camera with you every time you leave your apartment. And do you always leave the apartment with a plan, an itinerary?
BH: No, it’s much more random. Sometimes I would leave the apartment and not even be sure in which direction I was going to set out. But my approach to the material is still the same as the very first day I started photographing: I always ask permission. I always say, “May I take your picture?” So my photos became on-the-spot portraits. Even my earliest pictures have that same straight-on portraiture feeling. And, at first, I only took the photographs for myself and for Oliver.
Eagle: What made you decide to go public?
BH: A couple of things: More and more of my friends and my family saw them and liked them and that gave me confidence I suppose. But really the turning point was writing my memoir “Insomniac City,” which came out last year. The book has an unconventional structure; it’s composed of essays, vignettes, letters, journal entries and street photographs. And it felt very natural; photography seemed like another way to tell stories. The photographs in the book come and go, like people one encounters on the street. So I wove into [“Insomniac City”] about 40 photographs; they don’t come with stories, they just appear. And the reaction to them really surprised me: people really liked them! And that convinced me to do a complete book of photographs and “How New York Breaks Your Heart” seemed like a good title.
Eagle: An excellent title for an exceptional collection of images. Here’s to your taking many more!
BH: Thank you, Peter.
Big thanks to Interview Magazine and writer Ngozi Nwadiogbu for this very nice piece on my new book (click on photo):
Bill Hayes: How New York Breaks Your Heart
February 15th – March 17th, 2018
Opening Reception: Thursday February 15th, 2018, 6-8 p.m.
Steven Kasher Gallery presents the first ever exhibition of photography by Bill Hayes. A love letter to New York City, the exhibition How New York Breaks Your Heart features 24 black-and-white and color photographs. Hayes photographs ordinary New Yorkers at their most expressive and at their most fleeting, bringing the texture of the city to life. The exhibition launches the publication of a book of the same name, published by Bloomsbury, which features 150 photographs from the series woven through with Hayes’s lyric reflections.
Hayes cites Garry Winogrand, Peter Hujar and Diane Arbus as his artistic influences. Much like Arbus, Hayes photographs people on the streets of New York at close range with a straight on composition. But as the San Francisco Chronicle pointed out, “[Hayes’s] photos are reminiscent of Diane Arbus’ street portraits, the difference being that Arbus was drawn to the strangeness in people while Hayes is drawn to their warmth and beauty.” Former United States Poet Laureate Billy Collins says, “It’s in these ocular embraces that we feel the humanity and the beautiful eccentricity of individuals being revealed. Hayes gives us glimpses into the souls of the city’s characters in these arresting on-the-spot portraits.”
Street photography purists seek invisibility and don’t engage with their subjects beforehand. On the contrary, Hayes always ask his subjects if he can take their picture, creating a momentary intimacy. “I want to create portraits, but taken on the spot, on the fly, with no set-up or props, and only using natural light.”
Bill Hayes is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship in nonfiction and the author of four books, Sleep Demons (2001), Five Quarts (2005), The Anatomist (2009) and the critically acclaimed memoir Insomniac City: New York, Oliver Sacks, and Me (2017).
Bill Hayes: How New York Breaks Your Heart will be on view February 15th-March 17th, 2018. Opening Reception: February 15, 6-8 PM.
Steven Kasher Gallery is located at 515 W. 26th St., New York, NY 10001. Gallery hours are Tuesday through Saturday, 10 AM to 6 PM. For inquiries, please contact Cassandra Johnson, 212-966-3978, [email protected]
I took many pictures of Oliver Sacks during our life together — and not just because I adored him. He was an irresistible subject for a photographer, with his bushy beard, sparkling bespectacled eyes, expressive hands, gaptoothed smile and the athletic build of someone who could easily swim long distances, even into his 80s.
The last picture I took of him, however, captures something quite different. His eyes do not meet mine, his head rests on a propped hand, and he is completely absorbed in a Bach piece he’d been learning to play.
I made a print and showed it to him a couple of days later. He didn’t find it especially flattering, but he liked it. It reminded him of the engraving of an elderly Beethoven in the “Oxford Companion to Music” from 1938. He knew that book practically by heart — a favorite aunt had given it to him as a boy — and he could describe the illustration and its caption with perfect recall: Beethoven’s room is “untidy,” he told me, “and there sits the aged composer, ‘very ill, but indomitable.’ ”
I nodded, his words echoing in my head: very ill, but indomitable — yes.
“How New York Breaks Your Heart. . . immortalizes ordinary people in the city that never sleeps.” – The New York Times
“A photographic love letter to New York City and its people that is sparse in text but loaded with images and feeling. . . . Hayes succinctly and sensitively traces what he has identified as the stages of falling in love with New York and getting one’s heart broken by it. . . [An] affecting portrait of the city’s vibrant people, and the social and solitary effect of living among them.” – Publishers Weekly
Available for preorder. On sale February 13, 2018.
“The book’s voluminous portraits capture lovers in a way few do, and when I think of the great photographers who have depicted this city–Elliot Erwitt, Helen Leavitt, Diane Arbus, Gordon Parks to name only a few–Hayes adds to this bounty….” — Philip Clark, Lambda Literary
“After his stirring memoir of Oliver Sacks and New York, Hayes turns his sensitive, sympathetic lens to the human poetics coursing through the streets of the iconic city at all hours of the day and night, across every social stratum, every age, every feeling-tone. From the hipsters and the homeless and the protesters and the lovers — oh so many lovers — emerges a chorus of humanity singing the siren song of New York.
“A photographer shares his visual love letter to New York….Respect for people and delight at his environment mean that the book is like a meditation on mindfulness.”
“A beautiful companion to Insomniac City and a standalone volume that captures the comedy, tragedy, and magic in the everyday.”
— Erin Kodicek, Omnivoracious, The Amazon Book Review
“Just in time for Valentine’s Day, this love letter in photos documents a diverse range of city dwellers while capturing both the excitement and loneliness of living among them.” — Named one of the “Top 10” Art & Photography Books by Publishers Weekly
“How New York Breaks Your Heart. . . immortalizes ordinary people in the city that never sleeps.” — The New York Times
“A photographic love letter to New York City and its people that is sparse in text but loaded with images and feeling. . . . With every photo, Hayes captures the casual intimacy of his subjects with their natural habitat to show what’s most heartwarming about the city: the rare, diverse, and vital spirit of the people in it.”
— Publishers Weekly
“There’s wistfulness in Hayes’ title, for the beauty that breaking reveals. With his photos, Hayes seems to say that if a city breaks your heart, look to its people to piece it back together again.” – Booklist
“Hayes wields the camera with the same curiosity and elegance as the pen. He transforms a simple sidewalk moment into fine art.” – Shelf Awareness
“New Yorkers know better than to stare on the street, but Bill Hayes’ camera is allowed to, and often his subjects, whether alone or in pairs, stare right back at him, and now at us. It’s in these ocular embraces that we feel the humanity and the beautiful eccentricity of these individuals being revealed. Hayes gives us glimpses into the souls of the city’s characters in these arresting on-the-spot portraits.” — Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate of the United States
“Bill Hayes’s photos are a love letter to New York….” Interview Magazine
“Here we see Hayes’ excellent eye, and his ability to portray his subjects with intimacy and immediacy. The photos tell something about the photographer, as well: how he is drawn to people, and must seem worthy of their trust. The delectation goes both ways.” Bay Area Reporter
“Photographer Bill Hayes captures NYC street life in new book” — Interview with Bill Hayes in The Brooklyn Eagle
“A fabulous cacophony of different cultures and personalities, Bill Hayes’s ode to the Big Apple is nothing short of mesmerizing….” Elephant Magazine
Barnes & Noble Amazon IndieBound
“Hayes finds snippets of beauty, writing vignettes that capture the mundanity of a domestic relationship and taking photographic portraits of the everyday characters he meets in New York.” Amuse / i-D magazine
Bill Hayes’s critically acclaimed memoir Insomniac City provided a first look at his unique street photography. Now he presents an exquisite collection–150 photos in both color and black-and-white–that captures the full range of his work and the magic of chance encounters in New York City.
Hayes’s “frank, beautiful, bewitching” street photographs “unmask their subjects’ best and truest selves”(Jennifer Senior, New York Times): A policeman pauses at the end of a day. Cooks sneak in cigarette breaks. A pair of movers play cards on the back of a truck. Friends claim the sidewalk. Lovers embrace. A flame-haired girl gazes mysteriously into the lens. And park benches provide a setting for a couple of hunks, a mom and her baby, a stylish nonagenarian . . .
How New York Breaks Your Heart reveals ordinary New Yorkers at their most peaceful, joyful, distracted, anxious, expressive, and at their most fleeting–bringing the texture of the city to vivid life. Woven through with Hayes’s lyric reflections, these photos will, like the city itself, break your heart by asking you to fall in love.