New York City is a space drowning in anonymous moments and legendary instants. Millions of solitary satellites criss-crossing orbits in flashes and gusts.

Go ahead. Try to pause them. Grasp them. File them. Offer to make sense of them. Attempt to seize control with a piece of metal and glass. Multitudes have tried. Few have succeeded. Esther Levine has flourished. Levine's New York is a series of colors, ironies and shadows. She paints in minutia, offering inanimates and body parts their 15 seconds. This island - a place that has been bruised and coated by concrete, by buttons, by rules, by sex - perks up to her gaze, exposing its subconscious, flaunting its warts, revealing it's bloodlines.

A native of Germany, Levine originally focused her camera on the alternating city of Berlin, bringing her the attention of magazines and galleries across the globe. This new series is an extension of that Berlin work, centering on the city she now calls home.
(Anthony LaSala)