A lot of photographers have their trademark. Their muse. The place that inspires them creatively. Ansel Adams had the unspoiled wonders of the American West. Margaret Bourke White had industrialized America. Edward Weston captured the essence of sun scorched Mexico.
I have the Macy’s in Downtown Crossing. I realized recently that I have photographed that store nearly everyday for the past three, almost four years. I’ve gotten mannequins. Store displays. Reflections. Thing is the store isn’t even that interesting. Sorry Macy’s. I love shopping there but it isn’t Bergdorf Goodman. In a way that is good. I see that store at its worst and at its best.
I particularly love the mannequins. They line they up behind barriers sometimes. Other times you see (behind barriers) piles of arms and legs and feet. And I stick a camera back there and photograph it because I am bad to the bone!
A couple of days ago, I saw something worthy of my chronicle of Macy’s. A couple of the mannequins have fallen and were facing the glass. I assumed they had gotten into a fight while no one was looking. Probably knowing that their store would appear on this blog, the store blocked up the windows a little while later. But not before I got a few shots: