Ben Orlansky

These are my eyes. This is my city. Welcome to New York.

Some of my photos lie. Or do they? I capture microseconds of humanity. Look at that old man laughing. It warms your heart and puts a smile on your face. Well, actually, he was just picking his teeth, but the results and effects of those little micromoments remain the same. I may lie through my photos, but those lies have effected me greatly, and I hope they do the same for you.







She wants to write. God, she wants to write so bad. But the ink bubbles in her throat and leaks from her pores and swirls down the drain in little black puddles. She tries. Oh god, she tries. But the pen twists and grins in her sweaty grip until all that remains are smudges and streaks and tears and fears, and she steps back and stares at this thing she just made. It has not a single word, but bears her heartbeat just the same.