All of these girls, they have their names. I know many of them.
Some I’ve even interviewed, and learned extensively
of their life histories. Needless to say,
all of these girls have their own lives to live,
and it soon became obvious to me that there’s simply
no such thing has a clear-cut, happy life.
And all the girls that I’ve shot around the city,
they too have names. But I don’t know them.
They probably don’t even know I’ve taken a snapshot of them.
Yet to think: each of these girls have homes to return to,
parents, perhaps even lovers. They all carry their unique burdens.
But these things remain unseen in the photographs.
What you see is an encounter, as conscious as it is chance.
The intersection of time and space.
A CROSSROAD. A record of a fleeting impression I had.
At that very moment, in that very place.
All of these girls, they have their names. I know many of them.
Some I’ve even interviewed, and learned extensively
of their life histories. Needless to say,
all of these girls have their own lives to live,
and it soon became obvious to me that there’s simply
no such thing has a clear-cut, happy life.
And all the girls that I’ve shot around the city,
they too have names. But I don’t know them.
They probably don’t even know I’ve taken a snapshot of them.
Yet to think: each of these girls have homes to return to,
parents, perhaps even lovers. They all carry their unique burdens.
But these things remain unseen in the photographs.
What you see is an encounter, as conscious as it is chance.
The intersection of time and space.
A CROSSROAD. A record of a fleeting impression I had.
At that very moment, in that very place.