West Street, 2014. Inkjet print on Hahnemühle Fine Art Pearl. © Jay Fine
The Adorama Gallery and Hahnemühle are pleased to present New York Stories, the photographs of Jay Fine. The exhibition will open on Thursday April 16th and will be on view through Sunday May 10th. An opening reception will be held on Thursday April 16th from 6-8pm.
From a vantage point of forty stories above the street, Jay Fine conveys the elegance and serenity of the metropolis. It is a facet of New York that is rarely glimpsed by the casual observer.
Fine’s images evoke a reverence, not dissimilar to the poetry of Whitman’s Manhatta. Those exalting stanzas meet the aesthetics and values of Early American Modernism. His work echoes the geometry of Precisionists like Charles Sheeler, and manages to relate the same wonder of industrialization.
This series depicts the majesty of New York’s architecture and is a study of a city in constant flux. Each piece borders on abstraction, yet retains a strong sense of atmosphere. Fine’s New York is both mysterious and dichotomous. His imagery is a graceful juxtaposition of texture and tonality: the sfumato of fog and steam partially obscures unyielding marble and steel. Fine demonstrates a refined balance of light and shadow, helping to illustrate Manhattan’s multifaceted beauty.
New York Stories is a meditation on the Metropolis as seen through an artist’s eyes. Fine deftly encapsulates the dynamism of the continuing process of urbanization, but his photography still harkens back to an older New York. As an artist, Fine is inspired by Manhattan’s ever transforming skyline, yet he recalls the same cosmopolitan grandeur that has drawn multitudes to this small island for generations 
Battery Place, 2014. Archival inkjet print on Hahnemühle Fine Art Pearl. ©Jay Fine
From the Artist–
My photography is my artist’s statement. My photography is based on experiencing New York City for decades on the streets, in the air and in its galleries and museums.
Every time I lift a camera up to my eye I have a feeling of déjà vu. Just before I press the shutter I can see something that I’ve seen in book, magazine or museum. It is the emotional connection between what I am seeing and what I’ve seen. My memories: that’s what makes me want to take the shot.
For the past decade much of my work has been shot from high above the city at the edge of Manhattan. This vantage point provides a sweeping canvas for capturing the changing light and atmosphere of past and present New York and its Harbor.
My influences range from Alfred Steigletz, Berenice Abbott and Andreas Feininger to Samuel H. Gottscho and Joel Meyerowitz. Their work is timeless and captures the essence of the City. This is something I try to do – whether I am successful or not I leave to others.
Jay Fine
Fine is represented by the Kim Foster Gallery and the World Trade Galleryin NY and the Caters News Agency in the UK.
To see more of Fine’s work please visit:www.flickr.com/photos/jayfine/ or
Follow him on Instagram @jaysfine
For gallery inquiries, please contact:
Cristina Ferrigno at 212.741.0401 x 2151 or cferrigno@adorama.com
My City by James Weldon Johnson
When I come down to sleep death’s endless night,
The threshold of the unknown dark to cross,
What to me then will be the keenest loss,
When this bright world blurs on my fading sight?
Will it be that no more I shall see the trees
Or smell the flowers or hear the singing birds
Or watch the flashing streams or patient herds?
No, I am sure it will be none of these.
But, ah! Manhattan’s sights and sounds, her smells,
Her crowds, her throbbing force, the thrill that comes
From being of her a part, her subtle spells,
Her shining towers, her avenues, her slums–
O God! the stark, unutterable pity,
To be dead, and never again behold my city!
Mannahatta by Walt Whitman
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly,
musical, self-sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships, an
island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong,
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining
islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d,
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business, the houses
of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the
river-streets,
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the
brown-faced sailors,
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river,
passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d,
beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
Trottoirs throng’d, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,
A million people–manners free and superb–open voices–hospitality–
the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!
