From the bottom of a Manhattan canyon, deep in the kind of street shadow midtown manufactures all afternoon, we look up at a wedge of hard blue sky. A limestone tower takes the sun full on the face; a Gothic crown rises behind it; at the left edge a curve of riveted steel swings in, Calder red, the color plazas use to prove they love art. And in the middle of all this architecture: a man, nearly all silhouette.
The picture rations him out beautifully. Light finds only the mouth, a chin, the suggestion of a smile arriving; his locs stand backlit against the sky like a crown taking a bow. The wardrobe comes through in glimpses: a blue pinstriped collar, a pale silk tie with its neat scatter of dots, the knot done properly. A spray of yellow pansies burns in the lower corner like a boutonnière the city pinned on itself. This is menswear as rumor, style delivered on a need-to-know basis, and it is exactly right for the title: not a portrait, a sketch, the city drawn in three or four confident strokes.
Yeste came up through the great European fashion pages, Numéro, Harper’s Bazaar, Vogue, and stands in the front rank of Spanish fashion photography. His work keeps returning to the elements, fire, sand, wind, and New York light qualifies: it behaves like fire, striking one surface and sparing the next. The archival pigment print carries the drama: blacks dense enough to keep his secrets, red and yellow tuned high. A street picture with couture manners, and it swaggers.
From the bottom of a Manhattan canyon, deep in the kind of street shadow midtown manufactures all afternoon, we look up at a wedge of hard blue sky. A limestone tower takes the sun full on the face; a Gothic crown rises behind it; at the left edge a curve of riveted steel swings in, Calder red, the color plazas use to prove they love art. And in the middle of all this architecture: a man, nearly all silhouette.
The picture rations him out beautifully. Light finds only the mouth, a chin, the suggestion of a smile arriving; his locs stand backlit against the sky like a crown taking a bow. The wardrobe comes through in glimpses: a blue pinstriped collar, a pale silk tie with its neat scatter of dots, the knot done properly. A spray of yellow pansies burns in the lower corner like a boutonnière the city pinned on itself. This is menswear as rumor, style delivered on a need-to-know basis, and it is exactly right for the title: not a portrait, a sketch, the city drawn in three or four confident strokes.
Yeste came up through the great European fashion pages, Numéro, Harper’s Bazaar, Vogue, and stands in the front rank of Spanish fashion photography. His work keeps returning to the elements, fire, sand, wind, and New York light qualifies: it behaves like fire, striking one surface and sparing the next. The archival pigment print carries the drama: blacks dense enough to keep his secrets, red and yellow tuned high. A street picture with couture manners, and it swaggers.