World Trade Center – New York 1985
In January 1985, on my way to Texas, I stopped for a few days in New York. I discovered the city in winter, wandering with curiosity and photographing simply to keep a trace of that moment. Among the must-see landmarks, the World Trade Center stood out. This series of images, which has gained emotional value over time, marks my first steps toward a more conscious photographic approach — between instinctive framing and urban wonder.
An Initiatory Memory
I arrived in New York from France before heading to Texas by bus and hitchhiking. With no set plan, I explored the city on foot, from Battery Park to Central Park, and decided to go up to the top of the World Trade Center. The view from the 107th floor impressed and unsettled me. I didn’t take many photos, but each shot mattered. The winter light, soft and veiled, gave the images an almost dreamlike tone.
From the Top of the Towers
I gained altitude — literally. The Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges stretched into the distance, and the city unfolded as far as the eye could see. I was struck by the urban geometry: the grid, the layered roads, the metal structures. These views spoke to me, though I didn’t yet know why. It was the first time I observed the world with such attention to form, rhythm, and line.
Back in July: Lines, Reflections, and Geometry
I returned to New York in July 1985 at the end of my Texas stay. Four intense days to explore the city with a more informed eye. I went back to the World Trade Center district, still fascinated by its monumental architecture and distinct atmosphere. By day and by night, I experimented with new framings: window reflections, sculptures, contrasts of shadow and light.
Among the images made that summer, one daylight photograph stands out today. Taken in backlight from the World Trade Center plaza, it features a flare across the frame, caused by the sunlight. At the time, I saw it as a technical flaw. Today, it reminds me of the vernacular approaches of photographers like Stephen Shore, where accidents become aesthetic elements in themselves.
Another shot, taken at nightfall, shows one of the complex’s entrances framed by metal columns and dominated by a massive angular sculpture. Office lights still glowing during the blue hour create a vibrant geometric pattern on the curved façade of the neighboring tower.
Photography as a Spark
Back then, I didn’t see myself as a photographer. I was simply trying to capture what I saw. Yet these images reveal a budding interest in structure, contrast, and light atmospheres. Without realizing it, I was beginning to develop the visual language that would later become my own.
The World Trade Center — now gone — remains the symbolic place of that first photographic awareness. A place where my eye started to see differently, searching for balance, tension, and visual emotion.
Looking Back
These photographs were rediscovered much later during an archiving project of my negatives and slides. They haven’t been retouched, except to restore a bit of their original vibrance. Some compositions still surprise me: they already contain elements that fuel my current work — geometry, low-angle light, vanishing lines, verticality.
New York 1985 taught me how to look, quite simply. To feel a scene before framing it. To stop. And those few images, made almost on instinct, have become quiet milestones in a lasting passion for photography.
These rare images are available as limited edition fine-art prints (12 copies), signed and numbered with a certificate of authenticity, via the Une image pour rêver gallery.
Click the images below to view them full screen.
All the photos displayed on this website are copyright protected © Sebastien Desnoulez. No use allowed without written authorization.
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