Stories, memories, and else

New York Subway, 2015

For You, For Them, the Ones They Are, and the Ones They Aren’t (Yet), 2000

London 1995, Roxanne at Ye Olde Axe

East London strip pubs would shut their doors at 11 pm, with patrons inside, and shows would then start. Strippers would perform behind closed doors. I was exploring subcultures pockets in London. At Ye Olde Axe on Hackney Road, I befriended a woman my age. She was a singer and dreamed of putting out her electronic music record. She worked as a dancer at night, went clubbing after her gigs, sometimes djayed, and recorded music during the day. We met over her course of couple months, at the pub on Hackney Road, other strip pubs, the recording studio, her apartment, and the supermarket. I met her record producer, her boyfriend, her cats, and dancer friends. At Ye Olde Axe, I was photographing with a 28 mm lens. The wide-angle lens meant I was very close to Roxanne and patrons, immersed in the action, and the wide aperture allowed me to shoot in low light conditions. While my presence elicited some questions at first, soon nobody paid notice. Everyone was a regular and I became a regular. The atmosphere was friendly. The dancers would tell the DJ what to play, the owner would keep an eye on the crowd. There was no stage. The action was happening in the middle of the room, among the patrons, and dancers would change in the bathroom between sets.

Roxanne and I were attuned to the worlds we navigated, had respect for each other’s creative pursuits, and had each other’s back. I was supporting her recording project and she was supporting my photography project. She knew I would not sell my photos to the guys who offered money for them. Late at night, she’d wait to see me get into a cab to travel from Hackney to Stockwell, before leaving herself.

Roxanne—her stage name—was also hard to pin down, communication could be erratic. At that time in London, ecstasy and other drugs were part of the rave scene. They kept you up, they kept you in motion. I never knew if that pace caught up with her. Eventually her land line was disconnected. She had moved out. The shared moments remained.

Oituz 1994, Bacău, Romania