“Yummy Manhole” by Ner Beck.

Upper West Sider Ner Beck, a graphic designer and photographer, is exhibiting his photographs of “Lost and Found West Side Street Art” at Morningside Heights Public Library, 2900 Broadway, 113th Street and Broadway, through May 12. His photos take everyday items, such as a painted fire hydrant, and turn them into a surprising piece of art.

Where do you draw your inspiration for taking photos on the street?

I shoot every day as I go on my daily walks on the West Side. I have learned to walk at a relaxed pace and to soften my vision, so that the subjects come forward to catch my attention. I have found that the trick is to not look too hard for an image to photograph, and to wait for the image to appear. It is a little like when we lay on our backs, stare up at the clouds and start seeing animal or human forms appear. It might be a glowing color on an overcast rainy day, two circles that make a pair of eyes that speak to you, or a juxtaposition of elements that tell a story for that moment. Many of my images contain faces. They have always been interesting to me because they express such a range of emotions to everyone in such a visceral way. They can be compelling in the same way a child loves their stuffed animal or when an adult looks into the face of a family member or their pet. Masks have had an important historical significance and always commanded everyone’s attention.

What was your first piece and where did you find it?

I started shooting street art in 1965 as my final senior project in art college. After graduating I worked as a graphic designer for 45 years. But, I always maintained my interest in found street art. Over the past year I picked up my digital camera and started my shooting walks again. I have lived on the West Side since 1968, and one of the great adventures was treasure hunting on the street for tossed-out furniture and art objects. My photography is a continuation on that theme. My first piece in this series was “Patriotic Plug.” During the 1976 Bicentennial, neighborhood residents painted this fire plug in red, white and blue, and it still survives today in front on Ben & Jerry’s at 100th and Broadway.

What kind of equipment do you use?

When I started my college project I used to use a little 1940s Leica because I could slip it in my pocket and travel light. Today I have a tiny Nikon S7C that is only a little bigger than a credit card but takes very high-resolution photos.

What makes an item photo-worthy?

The image must stop me in my tracks and tell me an interesting story that I have never heard before. It has to have a strong emotion. Humor, sadness, fear, abandonment or something expressing itself in a powerful personal way.

What is your favorite photo and why? 

It is very hard to pick just one photograph because every picture contains a unique message for me. But I think the one that relates to me the most is “Nature Wins One,” which is a tree eating a tire. That tree is on 100th Street between Amsterdam and Columbus across from the Bloomingdale Library Branch. I believe the tire was attached to the tree base in the parking lot to protect the tree from cars bumping and damaging the bark. Over time the tree has grown around and engulfed and crushed the tire. A timeworn urban battle.

This is not some brag to make myself sound popular, but more of a testament to what I’ve discovered is something from which many a city dweller tends to suffer: relationship ADHD.

New Yorkers have so many people coming and going in our daily lives that after two and a half decades, not only can I often not put names to faces but sometimes the faces get lost in the recesses of my mind as well.

It is really no reflection on the importance of the people—just my brain going to into recognition overload. Do you know how many teachers, parents, coaches, tutors, after-school instructors, neighbors and colleagues have crossed my path in the past decade alone? It’s like there’s a TV remote clicking pictures of faces in my head every few seconds.

What makes it worse are the people who take an inordinate amount of offense. Do we not all live in the same get-out-of-my-way, comin’-through-city, where “I can’t talk now, I’m swamped,” is the favored expression, and no one can make a move unless they check their Blackberry?

Perhaps I just have low self-esteem, but I usually re-introduce myself because I assume people won’t remember we used to chit-chat at toddler ballet back in 1999.

On more than one occasion though, I’ve been approached by people I have not seen in forever, and they eventually left me in a huff because I needed to re-familiarize myself. There was one mother I thought was going to hire a hit man when I not only didn’t remember her name, but I also couldn’t place her child who had been in pre-K with my son. Just to give you a point of reference, my son will be entering high school. I guess I could have faked my way through the conversation, but since I was never a student of Stella Adler, I didn’t think I’d be that convincing. I clung to the belief that the truth would set me free. The only thing that was set free was me from the exchange.

To be honest, not everyone is quite so oversensitive. The other day a young woman greeted my daughter and myself as we passed on 86th Street.

I did recognize her and we all stopped to chat. She graciously asked my daughter how she was doing and complimented her outfit. In turn we both asked the woman how she was and then I extended my interest to include her family. “How’s your baby?” There was both horror and confusion on her face. “No baby for me,” she made clear. Oh no, to whom have I been speaking? Isn’t this my girl’s former speech therapist? Apparently not. My daughter then reminded me of her name and that we knew her from gymnastics. I apologized profusely and tried to explain (read: babble) how she and the person I confused her with were both tall and thin and wore their hair back in ponytails. She laughed it off.

It must be easier to live in a small town where there’s one grocer, one doctor, 10 neighbors in your cul-de-sac and a mailman. But I love Manhattan with the never-ending stream of people and all the action. I just feel that on top of everything else that goes on here, if I’m also expected to remember names dating back to 1980, my head will explode.

If that happened, I bet you’d remember me.
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Lorraine Duffy Merkl’s debut novel, Fat Chick, will be published in September by The Vineyard Press.