christopher lange

Gold embraced the pavement. Manhattan’s skyline pierced the clouds, swarms of gulls drawing sutures between the buildings. Icarus could have flown unscathed across the horizon, if only he had adjusted upwards a couple degrees. I’m glad you asked.          

I used to focus on the blackness between the stars. Now I want to burn brighter than a fucking supernova.

I was late at the office, shivered more than I should have on the walk home, cursing myself for not wearing a sweater. I didn’t have any expectations, but the fog was beautiful and I figured fuck it, why not, mounted the 35 1.4 and went back into the haze. The night was dense…a blanket of fog covered the Brooklyn waterfront; empty streets and quiet corners were too tempting. I didn’t have any…

Ebb & Flow – a note from the author.

I don’t think it’s any secret to anyone that knows me that I’ve gone through a pretty long hiatus from photography. Between coping with a job requiring long hours, feeling disaffected by my surroundings for a couple years, and an overall lack of inspiration, I fell into a routine of not carrying a camera around. Even when I did make an effort to have a camera of some sort on me, I wasn’t able to…

  We walked into the hot shop at around 8:30. Fire dancers performed in front of the glory holes while the crowd milled around with plastic cups of Sixpoint. A song about broads in Atlanta blared through the speakers as we found Charlie coming out of the bar. He was supposed to be working the bar, but the demo team needed an extra set of hands. She pointed out that someone had scrawled “MEAT” on…