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It’s Christmas Eve, and I am a firm believer that there is no better place to be than New York during the holidays. The city just knows how to celebrate. Everything lit up, the Christmas trees—finally some green in a city that’s pretty gray for the rest of the winter. The tree in the apartment across the street is particularly grand. I can’t even see the top of it. That family seems like they love a tradition, any excuse to dress up—themselves and their home. Right now, the son is practicing piano; his dad is helping him. They look so alike in their button downs and blazers. I can’t wait to see the son being the accompanist to carols tomorrow morning. I think it’s his first year in that role. He will be so excited, and his dad will be so proud.
Up above, the couple is preparing for their annual Christmas Eve festivities. I can only see into their bedroom, so I never see the party itself—except for the occasional guest tossing their coat on the bed. But I love being privy to their moments of preparation—her choosing her shoes, him fixing his tie, her re-fixing his tie. And then the moments at the end of the night. Heels kicked off, satisfied, collapsing on the bed, too tired to brush their teeth, Christmas day as a lazy time to recover.
Then there are the teen girls, sisters, both now in college. I can never remember who is older. They’re hiding away, seeking refuge from their families with each other, with their dogs, in their phones. A minute of peace away from the typical prying questions: How’s school? Have you decided on your major? What happened with that guy you were seeing? The dogs at least don’t ask them questions. And they don’t ask each other questions either. They already know everything that’s going on with the other thanks to Instagram or TikTok or texts. But I bet it’s nice for them to be occupying the same space again, especially in that comfortable silence.It all feels like the electric quiet in the air before a big blizzard—you know something wonderful is coming. It probably won’t be a white Christmas this year, but there’s the same energy here with these little moments of private relaxation, of eager preparation, of warm anticipation.
This Upper East Side family is famous for their extravagant Christmas parties, with more than 150 guests! On each floor of this picture, the parents and the children are getting ready.
The Upper East Side is one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in New York City: where millionaires and billionaires live in multi-story townhouses, triplex apartments, and Art Deco high-rises overlooking Central Park; where private high schools, centuries-old social clubs, and cultural institutions abound. Coming out of the Great Depression, my grandparents, immigrants from Eastern Europe, started one of the first New York staffing agencies for the wealthiest families to have nannies and housekeepers. They would have never imagined that today, people have nannies for their dogs; that they commute to their beach homes by helicopter and get botox treatments in their en-suite bathrooms. They also could have never imagined that today, when I walked into some Upper East Side apartments, I would see my own work hanging on living room walls.
I never met anyone with a three story apartment, but across the street one home towers three levels into the sky. The family that lives here has two kids, and I usually see them after school with their mom. Sometimes they’ll construct elaborate mazes together in the family room, or she’ll help them build forts with sheets that hang down from the ceiling rafters. Their apartment reminds me of a graphic novel I used to read about a school for young super heroes, each window is like a cell of a cartoon, with the story playing out across the frames.
The mom loves to read too, I think that’s why we’d be friends if we ever met. I always see her in her kitchen with a mug of tea and a stack of books. While the kids build their magical worlds upstairs, she dives into her books and worlds of her own. Sometimes she reads for 20 minutes, other times, an hour. No matter how much time she has, she always seems satisfied when she closes the cover. I think that’s the beauty of a book: you can go wherever you want, for however long you want, without ever leaving your apartment.
Finding a time to shoot this photo was tough because the person whose apartment we were photographing from travels so much that there were only two nights that worked for both families. But on the night of the shoot it was pouring rain. I was so nervous that I called my insurance company to make sure that if the rain came flooding in while I was shooting that I was covered. Seconds before we were set to begin, miraculously, the clouds parted. The mix of the rain with the sun coming out turned the sky a metallic silver- blue glint. It felt magical, almost otherworldly. This building was designed by the architect Rosario Candella, and I’d always dreamed of shooting one of his majestic designs. He’s synonymous with some of New York City’s most distinguished private addresses, formal apartments owned over the years by icons like Jackie O. But what I immediately loved about this home is how informal it felt. It’s elegant, yes, but there was so much life inside, from the kids jumping on the bed to tennis balls flying by, with dogs chasing them down the hallway. It’s filled with the energy of a busy mom who works from home (she is a book publisher and podcaster) while managing a bustling household. It feels like a normal happy house that just happens to be perched in the Manhattan sky. The quotidien activities of the family—pancake breakfasts, watching sports on tv, the dogs running amok—stand in contrast to the reputation of a formal, museum-like upper east side apartment building. After the shoot, I was in a group chat for my son’s school, and I realized that her kids went to the same school as my son. And she had actually been receptive to me shooting because she collects photographs and already owned several of my pieces!
The Upper East Side is dead during the summer. I sort of forgot that entire neighborhoods migrate en masse to the Hamptons during the hot months. It’s just me and the decorator working in the apartment across the street. I’m crashing at my parents’ place post-graduation. It feels like everyone my age is doing the same—nowhere better to go. I’m 21, so the UES wouldn’t exactly be my neighborhood of choice, but the quiet is sort of nice. I’ll definitely be able to concentrate better on my manuscript, but on the other hand, I was hoping for a little more inspiration in the form of people-watching.
There IS something inherently interesting about being a decorator in this neighborhood right now—alone in a stranger’s private space. Who knows what she could find. I don’t know if I’d be able to resist snooping (it’s in my nature!). Maybe curiosity gets the best of her too and she stumbles on something she shouldn’t. It could be the start of a great mystery.
During the summertime, many Park Avenue apartments clear out entirely, their residents having decamped to second, third, or fourth homes from the Hamptons to the south of France. All the windows are dark. But here, at the end of June, is a row of lights: the woman in this picture is a decorator. She’s in town in the summer because it’s one of the only times a year when these buildings allow for renovations.
On Yom Kippur, as the sun sets, the families come home. In the top apartment, they’re gathered around the table, elbow to elbow, for the break fast. The daughter strikes a match to light the candles, and the mother puts out the challah. There’s a chunk of it missing where her son has stolen a pinch while it was cooling on the counter. Just like when he was a kid, he still can’t resist, and his mother gives him a look that only a mother can.
Tonight I was surprised to see the lights on in the apartment below. They’re hardly ever there. I wonder if they came for the holiday, though I don’t see any signs of a meal. The brothers trade stories about grad school — how much longer, what’s next – but it’s hard to hear each other over the sound of their grandmother talking loudly into the phone in the next room. She’s gossiping with an old girlfriend. These days she always speaks a little too loudly when she’s on the phone, so they can hear her trying to set one of them up on a blind date with her friend’s granddaughter. Is she doing that on purpose, to try to draw them in? The noise bothers her youngest grandson who is alone on his computer trying to finish his English paper which is due at 8. The parents are enjoying the soundtrack of a full house while they quietly play backgammon.
Downstairs, I recognize an older woman and her teenage granddaughter who are rushing to prepare dinner before the rest of the family gets back. Though we’ve never met, I see her every Friday morning at Murray’s, the Sturgeon King. I don’t think she knows we’re neighbors. She now shadows her granddaughter, showing her which plates are which, and explaining
This building is a lot of things: it’s a neo-Renaissance design, it’s pre-war, (Wood burning fireplaces! Pristine floors!) and it’s a co-op of just twelve homes — some of its apartments span entire floors. It has been towering over the Lenox Hill neighborhood on the Upper East Side for 100 years as of this year, a stunning construction designed by the renowned Starrett Brothers & Eken. You might recognize some of their other projects, including the Empire State Building and Stuyvesant Town.
On the upper east side of NYC, the high holidays have an energy that sweeps through the neighborhood — it feels like everyone is celebrating. I remember once walking with my family on Yom Kippur and looking up to a building on Park Avenue and seeing all the windows lit — that was the inspiration for this photo.
I live downtown, so in the beginning, I didn’t know many people who lived on Park Avenue. Through pure happenstance, I heard that a friend might have a lovely Park Avenue apartment, so I asked if I could come look out her window. She graciously obliged, and though the view from her own apartment wasn’t quite right due to obstructions from the treeline, she did introduce me to her top floor neighbors, and another friend who lived across the street! This set the shoot in motion, and I immediately raced to
When I want to play dress-up in a lavish New York City life, I take the 6 train to the Upper East Side. This is one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in New York City: where millionaires and billionaires live in multi-story townhouses, triplex apartments, and Art Deco high-rises overlooking Central Park; where private high schools, centuries-old social clubs, and cultural institutions abound; and where during the summertime many of the buildings often clear out entirely (see Decorator), their residents having decamped to second, third, or fourth homes from the Hamptons to the south of France.
Coming out of the Great Depression, my grandparents, immigrants from Eastern Europe, started one of the first New York staffing agencies for the wealthiest families to have nannies and housekeepers. They would have never imagined that today, people have nannies for their dogs and “chiefs of staff” for their household help; that they commute to their beach homes by helicopter and get botox treatments in their en-suite bathrooms.
My glimpses of the Upper East Side have always been from an outsider’s perspective—watching shows like The Jeffersons and Gossip Girl. High-end cafés and boutique stores speckle its clean, elegant residential blocks. Museum Mile — hosting the Met, the Guggenheim, the Frick (a museum housed in a Gilded Age mansion), and so many others — draws a line up Fifth Avenue along the eastern edge of the park. But one of the things I love most about New York is that when you get to stand in someone's apartment and look out their window and see what they see, that's where the city gets really beautiful — where everything slows down, and you can actually pay attention to the details.
Now, when I’m invited to photograph, I get a rare and intimate look into the windows of apartments that most New Yorkers can only ever imagine—and I’m surprised by what I’ve found. Beneath the Upper East Side’s many layers of privacy and exclusivity, there is the prevailing sense here that the home is a sacred space – a place defined by warmth, by family, by tradition. It’s no coincidence that several of my pictures from the Upper East Side show families celebrating holidays (see Break Fast and Christmas Tree). Even more special are the ordinary, perhaps mundane moments of joy (Jumping on Bed) that remind us how the most important moments are the same, no matter where we live.
I’ve always wrestled with my attraction to the neighborhood, though. I’m an artist, quirky and unconventional, and though I’ve dreamt of an inside look at these decorator apartments, I always knew that I didn’t quite fit into that world. These were people who collected the work of some of my favorite artists; when I started this work fifteen years ago and walked into one of the first apartments that I was photographing, I saw an Edward Hopper on the wall. I never expected that in 2023, when I walked into an Upper East Side apartment, I would see my own work hanging in a living room.
