What’s made of stone moves.

What falls through the cracks

Lands on its feet.

The smoke wins

Not the fire.

When you head east in the lower part of the island of Manhattan the avenues running north to south after First Avenue start turning into letters. This is known as Alphabet City, or to some of those native to that community, Loisaida. Frequently, on the fourth of July, fireworks are launched from a barge on the bordering East River. As good as the show in the sky gets, the one on the surrounding rooftops makes for a better show. 

     Loisaida Fireworks is a lower-lying look at higher flying fireworks. The landscape of what comes before the sky is the subject matter. In the book, the photographs of fireworks are annotated with images from the white and silver paint that has been added to tar roofs to address climate change.

    Proximity has always afforded a spectacular view of the fireworks from the East Village. These images are resonating with me because I'm anxious for the views and viewers to remain. Change, in general, is the back seat driver of this series. The planet we live on, our country, our city, and my neighborhood all seem to be disappearing over the time horizon in a puff of smoke.

    I wrote the phrase up top a long time ago but chose it for this book as an homage to the inevitability of change and a prayer for what remains. I want to believe that we lathe change as much as change lathes us.