Imagine...

I worked nearly across the street from Strawberry Fields in Central Park, so once I was finished I strolled over and saw John Lennon's memorial -- Imagine. I took a few shots but like this one the most, with his home, The Dakota, in the background caught behind the trees. A man in a guitar was singing Imagine and people were taking selfies and photos of themselves by the circle. I didn't like like being that close to it; no context aside from the historical and emotional...

It's a funny thing, saying that. History and emotion are contextual things...but they rely so much on individual perceptions of what is and isn't important to what is being seen.  I didn't go to the archway where he was killed, either. I feel to do that would be, I dunno, ghoulish? To me, a photo of where he lived without the lovely mosaic in the pavement close by leaves open reminders of a movie -- Rosemary's Baby...which had devil worshipers in the building.

Supposedly, the building is cursed, with its first victim possibly being Peter Tchaikovsky, the very first resident to move in. He supposedly died of cholera but there are rumors of suicide. Maybe he set the stage for the building's life. Who knows? What I do know is those old buildings had a life of their own. I was working on the 21st floor of the San Remo, two blocks down, where the service elevator whistled and whined in the wind. Very creepy...

Other famous people have lived there -- Lauren Bacall, Judy Garland, Rosemary Clooney, Boris Karloff, Rudolph Nureyev -- and it's been a landmark since 1969, but it's John Lennon's murder that's solidified it in people's minds. And mine, truth be told. But I figure since I passed it by en route to this latest packing job, I'm meant to pay at least some homage to keep the fates happy.

So I did.