Williamsburg, Brooklyn [9.22.11]
The ragpickers going through my building’s back alley dumpsters are becoming more numerous. It used to be a few times a week someone would stop by, never the same person on consecutive days. Now someone’s here at least once a day. Yesterday, the gentleman in the Wayne Rooney jersey who talks to (and occasionally kisses) the tropical juice boxes he finds was here in the late morning. At around noon another man was interrupted by a third man. And they knew each other. They gathered discarded clothes and chatted like old friends. I took this picture as covertly as I could. The way they inspect the clothes is entirely learned and professional. The image seems doubly exposed, and casts them nearly as phantoms. It was not my intention.
Baudelaire and Benjamin were fascinated by the lifestyles of Parisian ragpickers. Benjamin, quoting Fregier, discovered a paradoxical gem, which, even if untrue, paints a vivid portrait of life in the late hours.
“Like salaried workers, they have a habit of frequenting taverns… Like them, and more than them, they make a show of the expenditures which this habit entails…. The ragpickers are not always content with ordinary wine; they like to order mulled wine, and they take great offense if this drink does not contain, along with a strong dose of sugar, the aroma produced by the use of lemons.”
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