One day about a year ago as I stood at 16th and Mission, I watched transfixed as a teeming mass of people moved through the corners and plazas and streets, an endless, chaotic dance swirling around me.
The Mexican preacher with his bullhorn yelled to the crowds to experience "el perdón de los pecados a través de Jesucristo" while old and young laughed and talked and shouted, ignoring the preacher. Elderly woman and homeless men, young kids and cops in uniform, hipsters and queers and trannys, blacks and whites and browns, men and women of all races mixed amongst each other with an equality only found here, all while the bone-tired collapsed on the steel park benches anchored in the plazas' concrete or laid passed out on the hard sidewalks or slept in filthy blankets on the steps of the subway station.
The stench of piss and shit wafted from hidden corners and invaded this endless play in infinite acts, their acridity reminders to the players and the audience of the base functions of life.
Here it is, life at its best. We eat. We sleep. We piss. We shit. We are born and we die.
And between birth and death, we experience this endless play and eternal dance in this place on this day at this moment in our journeys from cradle to grave.
Surrounding me is life, teeming and chaotic.
This is life at the corner, real life with the façades stripped away, the pretenses banished, the political correctnesses smashed.
So I took photographs.