In the early 1990s I was in my late 20s, living and working in Manhattan as a photographer’s assistant. By day, I navigated the high-pressure world of fashion shoots and still-life studios. My role felt like that of a squire to a knight—I needed to master a vast array of equipment, adapt to challenging scenarios and stand at the right hand of the photographers I worked for. Despite the weight of responsibility, I was essentially invisible. The possibility of securing my own assignments seemed impossibly remote.
It was the Age of Analog—a time when film development demanded precision and darkroom work was an art form in itself. I honed my craft during the commercial photography recession of the post-1980s, grateful to make a living in an industry where so many struggled. But while my days were consumed by the demands of assisting, at night my world transformed.
As night fell, I would disappear into the shadows of back alleys, making my way toward the great bridges of New York. The Manhattan Bridge and the George Washington Bridge became my sanctuaries. These towering structures, often accessed through crime-ridden neighborhoods, were worth the risk. Under the cover of darkness, I would stealthily ascend their cables, leaving the chaos of the city behind to enter a realm of solitude.
Back then, in the pre-9/11 world, such daring climbs were possible. Up there, high above the city, I found palaces of girders whose views were so breath-taking I would find myself completely distracted by simply observing the lives engaged in street life.. These structures were so inaccessible that even graffiti artists hadn’t dared to venture there. Alone in the heights, I darted about, setting up my camera, sometimes painting with light to shape the scenes.
I did it because it was thrilling. I did it to esthetically control vast, epic visuals that no one else could see. I did it because those spaces called to the warrior within me. Perched in the heavens, focused and fearless, I felt alive in a way the routine of the studio could never provide.
This collection is a window into that transformative time in my life—a time when my photography wasn’t just about capturing images but about claiming a sense of freedom and control in a world that often felt beyond my grasp. These photographs are more than just documents of a bygone era; they are fragments of a journey, moments suspended between the earth and the sky from perspectives few others have experienced. They are moments that can no longer be revisited as the world has changed in profound ways since then. Through these photographs I invite you to ascend with me, to experience the thrill, the stillness, and the beauty of those palaces in the heavens.
