A Flaneur’s Inviting Gaze
Photographer Ghuncha Shaheed on the Importance of Anomalies, Spontaneity, and Surprise in Public Space
Pakistani architect and photographer Ghuncha Shaheed experienced West 72nd Street for the first time from behind the lens of her camera. A student in the Urban Placemaking program at Pratt Institute, Shaheed had not yet been to the Upper West Side when she stepped out of the subway into the semi-contained chaos of Verdi Square on a hot and humid day in early July.
Shaheed brings a flaneur's attention to the street, relaxed yet scrutinous in a way most locals have long since lost. This freshness of perspective, coupled with exquisite instincts as a photographer, results in images that offer surprises and profound insights into spaces we felt sure we knew quite well.
We spoke with Shaheed about her journey to photography, the truths photography can reveal, and the value of unplanned placemaking.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Maybe you can start off by telling us a little bit of your history with a camera. When did you start taking photographs, and how did you become interested in photography?
I started photography around ten years ago. I used to see my dad taking photographs. He was always taking film photographs, and he sort of became my inspiration. That became our bonding thing, like a love language of sorts. He's been my mentor. Eventually I became so used to having a camera in my hand, now I don't go anywhere without it.
What kind of camera do you typically use?
I've changed it over the years. I started off with a basic Nikon D3200, which is the beginner’s version, but now I've shifted to a mirrorless camera, a Sony Alpha A6400, which I currently use. I find it easier to carry. It's smaller in size, and the quality of the pictures is amazing.
I love that you always have your camera with you. What do you look for when you're walking around? What sorts of things catch your eye?
I'm always looking for anomalies or anything that stands out in public spaces. People are so habituated to things, and they don't realize how [public space] impacts them. But when you're coming from a flaneur's perspective, somebody who's visiting a space for the first time, you notice these things more.
Coming to New York is my first experience being an international student, so everything that I'm seeing is for the first time, and I take note of the space and how it makes me feel. I'm constantly creating parallels between back home and here. And just to see how human we are when it comes to public spaces, that's what I'm looking for.
Are there certain types of places that offer particularly rich subject matter?
Spaces that are not planned, I think that's one of my favorite things to notice. You realize that some people are making use of a public space in a way that isn't formally planned for, they're just reclaiming that space to meet their needs. It builds on this idea of anomaly, like an oddity that looks and feels a little distinct from everything else.
You're sort of talking about exposing these anomalies in a way, making them seen by others. What are you hoping these photographs might reveal to people?
Generally, I'm aiming for two things. The subjects are really important. Sometimes I can start up a conversation with someone once they realize that I'm taking a photograph of them. And I might say something like, “I love what's happening here, I like how you're taking up space.”
And then for the viewers, it's my way of putting forth a perspective that could help to actually plan better public spaces and take into account that there are certain communities that are trying to show you what they need.
What's your relationship to the subjects of your photographs? Is there an intimacy, or do you try to remove yourself and stay in the background?
I tend to remove myself, I'm very particular about that. I don't want to be taking photographs of people without their knowledge, and if I am taking photographs of them, I make sure their faces aren't shown or their identity is still protected. That's more important to me than just getting photographs for my own personal artwork.
We've talked before about a kind of essential truth that is revealed in photography. Maybe you can talk a bit more about that––both the truth of the spaces we inhabit and who we are as people.
I think it's innate human nature to be taking up space in public. We've become so accustomed to a top-down approach to these things, like there's only one voice that is trying to dominate, like, “You gotta put more cars here,” or something like that. But you see people telling you, showing you, that we kind of want to take up more space, I think it's human nature. And it feels a lot like rule breaking, these unplanned spaces. But I think it’s just innate human nature to bring [social] connection to spaces, and that is what I'm looking for. I think that is the truth for me, that human beings want to take up space.
Your photographs are incredibly beautiful, just as a piece of art. I'm curious about composition and how you think composition might help tell the stories of your photographs.
You have these formal composition rules, like rule of thirds or the golden ratio. But sometimes they're meant to be broken in order to tell better stories. Sometimes you don't have to follow these rules. Often the angle that I'm looking for is what tells a better story, and that would take precedence for me over [formal] composition.
I think a million times before taking a photograph. For one photograph, I've probably taken 50 to 100 shots, because I'm just trying to see which one actually captures it best.
In looking through your West 72nd Street series, I wrote down these words: belonging, vulnerability, and care. Maybe you could just respond to those.
While I was photographing all of this, I was just thinking about how this street does not show empathy to its users, and specifically pedestrian users. How there should be more trees and more seats. Because there’s this human nature to want to rest or to want to just linger a little longer and to want to just, like, photograph a little longer or to share food together. On the entire street I could only really see that happening on the two opposite ends of the street [at the mosque and the entrance to Central Park.] I feel like we could use a lot more empathy when it comes to how we share this space.
As you were speaking just now, the word “dignity” came to mind. You've talked a lot about unplanned placemaking, and I wonder if that is a way that people try to claim their human dignity in a space that otherwise feels hostile to them or where they feel marginalized.
I am a firm believer that this unplanned placemaking provides us with key insights, rather than always considering them as something that is a nuisance. Especially in a case like the mosque, when it's hard not to think that [the double and triple parking during Friday prayers] is causing so much pain to a lot of us, and that's true. But you have to go a little beyond that in order to see how human the need is to be socializing with your fellow Muslims or, even if you're not Muslim, to want to just linger a little longer.
So yeah, I'm a firm believer in unplanned placemaking or “urbanism without effort”, that’s Wolfe’s term for this. It looks a lot like an anomaly or like whimsy or a nuisance. But the more you dissect it, you find out this is the key to making it into a more livable street, a “complete street.” And what that would look like if cars did not dominate it and humans could actually take up that space.
Do you think something is lost when those unplanned spaces are formalized?
This does happen a lot, like, how do you find the balance between letting it be, that ad hoc-ness, but at the same time the more you plan for it... why must it always look the same? That is why neighborhood identity is so important. I do feel like when you plan something too much, it starts to look like the same thing everywhere. You don't see much character because it's become so globalized.
It's definitely a challenging task for me, to think, how would I want to formalize this placemaking, but at the same time allow it to sort of pop up in its own spontaneous ways. Like, if pedicab drivers were [formally] allowed to come in front of the mosque and be there with their colorful shades and seats. That was a surprise to me! There was an element of surprise to see them there, and I feel like there should always be room for this kind of element of surprise in public space.
Has West 72nd Street revealed its identity to you in the time you’ve spent there?
The majority of the street still tells me that the identity looks very car centric. And, you know, it's not fun for me to think, “West 72nd, the street where there's so many cars.” But when I look at these pockets of placemaking happening, how would that look if they're allowed to multiply? And once they multiply, I feel like that would make it different from any other street. Just allowing more people to take up space in ways that surprise.
We should always be looking at this unplanned, spontaneous placemaking, even though it doesn't always look pleasant at first glance. But I feel like that's where we use a little bit more empathy and just try to dig a little deeper into what's happening, and then you realize that all of this is a product of a greater systemic issue.
So maybe the greatest takeaway for me is that we shouldn't be looking at this in the most binary form, that there should only be a pedestrian zone or only a car zone, but rather we're looking to make it a complete street, and I feel like that completeness can be achieved if you're considering the needs of certain communities spontaneously taking up space and what that could look like. You just give them a little bit more space and encourage that humanness, and I feel like that would become your West 72nd identity. ❖
