The winter in New York City is so cold and lonely. Even with big puffy michelin tire looking jackets, wool scarves, ughs, and cashmere gloves, it is never enough. Last year I bought all the essentials for my first New York City winter. I expected it to be cold, but I didn't expect the wind. I would constantly walk against the wind with my head down to avoid stinging eyes and chapped lips. While surveying the NYC sidewalks I began to notice that every so often a glove/mitten would be lying on the ground. Most of the time the glove/mitten would be black. It made me so sad. The glove looked so lonely. I begin to notice lost gloves non-stop. I wondered the story behind the glove. Whose glove was it and when did they drop it? Poor gloves, they were caualities of another New York City winter.

This I year I decided to capture those final last moments of lost gloves. I want to tell a story about winter in NYC through these lost black gloves. I spotted the first pair of gloves this year while waiting in line to buy coffee on the corner of W27th and 7th Avenue on October 19th, 2006. There are two mailboxes stationed next to the coffee guy. As I walked buy them I noticed two matching black gloves. One on the ground and one on the box itself. They looked brand new, but now they were orphans.

And so it begins.