Photographer Ghuncha Shaheed Turns Her Camera to West 72nd Street
The Architect, Photographer, and Placemaker Reveals how “Humanness” Persists on a Street Made for Cars.
Ghuncha Shaheed’s photographs of West 72nd Street show intimately familiar, almost banal, scenes of public space: a man resting his arm on a fence at a stoplight; two people facing opposite directions staring at their phones; a woman and child walking down the sidewalk holding hands. The alchemy of these images is their subtle invitation to look closer at what seems unremarkable so that we might see what’s missing. What are the subjects of these photographs trying to tell us about inhabiting public space?
The combination of a placemaker’s sensibility and a photographer’s eye is a rare gift and public service. These images cut through the petty turf wars, reflexive NIMBYism, and political inertia that too often defines urban planning policy. They invite us instead to consider, in our minds and hearts, who and what public space is for, and who gets to decide. Shaheed’s photographs make a strong case that equitable placemaking requires, above all, space to be human—to rest when we’re tired, gawk at beauty, linger in community with strangers. Who deserves to experience these basic gestures of our shared “humanness”? Shaheed offers a compelling answer: we all do.
Captions and commentary have been edited for length and clarity.
↑ This series of photographs shows the first time I went to West 72nd Street. I took the subway, and I got out at the Verdi Square station. I stepped out, and all of a sudden I'm overwhelmed by the sheer number of cars going by and all the people just sharing that small space. It's so overwhelming, and they're going in different directions, and I was like, “OK, where am I supposed to go? How am I supposed to go?” And instead of taking photographs of the cars or the people and all of that, I figured this actually captures it. There's a lot going on in this street, and I feel like this picture for me, as a flaneur, encapsulates it.
↑ From Verdi Square I wanted to go towards Central Park, and that’s the first time it hit me that there's a lot of people who are sitting on these tree fences, which are barely two or three inches wide. There's no other seating for great distances along the street. Then I happened upon this perfect image. You have a Sikh man and a white man sitting in opposite directions on this tree fence. It just shows you that seating doesn't discriminate, everybody needs it, irrespective of ethnicity, religious background or race. This is one of those placemaking activities that is unplanned because they're making use of objects that weren't intended for that purpose. This is when I noticed, “Something about this street isn't working, and people are trying to show you what they need.”
↑ I took this photograph about ten times from different angles. For me, this says a lot about proportion and scale. You have about 30 to 40 people and only one seat. And then the backdrop is very gridded, that building does not feel very accommodating. Metaphorically that sort of spoke to me about proportion, about how so much of this street is just generally out of proportion, [favoring] vehicular traffic, but at the same time, there isn’t enough seating or space for people.
↑ I came across these two people, one on a Citi Bike and one standing at the bus stop, again with gridded architecture in the background. And you realize these people also don't have anywhere to sit. And the fact that they're both so engrossed in their phones. It kind of speaks to the photograph of the Sikh man and the white man, facing opposite directions. There is no space for them to sit together, to be able to have a conversation. The idea that they’re only here to look for directions, like that's the intent for this space [movement, not lingering]. And just this sheer amount of road space in the foreground, my brain just started thinking, “There’s no trees, no greenery, nothing.” This is sort of the truth of West 72nd that was being revealed to me.
↑ There are so many vehicles on West 72nd, so much space for vehicles, and many people are using their vehicles to double-park, and they're not taking care of pedestrians or the elderly or even being aware of their impact, causing inconvenience for a lot of people. In this photograph, I feel like “cars of anarchy” describes West 72nd Street as I’m seeing it, because the cars are taking up space wherever they want. In the background you see a car door opening, which shows you that this car is double-parked. This is what anarchy looks like, where you have double-parked cars, and somebody's opening their door and not caring about causing inconvenience to other vehicles, to bikers, to other forms of mobility that could be utilizing the space. And again, there’s the gridded architecture reflected in the windshield, which is sort of reflecting the globalized architecture of the street that offers very little humanness.
↑ This might be one of my favorite photographs, because you've got three essentials happening here on this particular bit of sidewalk. You have a person who's trying to drag their suitcase, but that specific use is competing with the bag of trash in the background, behind the bicycles tied up there. Just the use of the curb space, how it could be made better, and that this sidewalk is so narrow, and how there’s a lack of bike racks on the entire street. That was the intent behind this photograph, showing the competing uses and the inconvenience caused by small sidewalks and the fact that the trash takes up so much space when there's this empty space in the foreground that's not available to anyone not in a car.
↑ This photograph for me is a reminder that public space generally doesn't work for a lot of people. I happened upon this family who was trying to eat ice cream. The woman got ice cream for her kids, and there are people in the background looking at them, staring at them. There's no community care happening here. You can see the expressions, like it’s a nuisance the way this family is taking up space. This brings up deeper questions about equity, and how all they need in this moment is a place to sit, but there is none. When I was taking this photograph, I made sure to not show their faces, like, “How I can be respectful but still capture people's reaction to this?” I feel like we could use a lot more empathy.
↑ With this photograph, compositionally I felt it would be better to show a lot of the road. The man with a cast and crutches was just standing in front of this car. The viewer can't tell if he's waiting for someone to pick him up, if he's hailing a cab, if he's about to cross the street. It's not a crosswalk, so we feel some concern for him. No matter what this person is doing, you realize how unsafe this street is for people who are differently-abled or who have medical conditions, or move more slowly. There should be some space for him to comfortably linger, to have enough space for whichever activity that he’s doing.
↑ You can tell this man is struggling. He's carrying a grocery bag, you can see it in his left hand, and he's leaning and waiting for his time to cross the street. It's also hot out, I think that's what I wanted to capture with the glare. I'm 30, and I crossed the entire four blocks [of West 72nd Street] in thirteen minutes. But many people don't have that kind of energy, especially as they age. I was just thinking, “Why isn't there a place for him to rest? Why isn't there shade for him?” Again, it comes down to [a lack of] human-centric design. Also the signage in front of him, there's a speed limit, but that does not guarantee safety. Especially for someone who may take longer to cross the street. And the gridded buildings in the background reinforce again for me that this is not a human-centric space.
↑ This photograph was taken in front of the Islamic Cultural Center on a day when it's not Friday prayer time. You can see there is a parking spot available, and it's not being used. Even on a normal [non-congregational prayer] day there are still double parked cars, and you see the mother and the child who are trying to use the sidewalk which is very narrow. The distribution of space is really weighted toward the automobile here, even as the automobiles are doing something that is against the posted rules. There's a red light, and I was curious whether they're waiting for the light to turn, but that wasn't the case. You can see how they're straddling the white line, which is a clue that they're stopped and occupying space they're not meant to. And it's a lot wider compared to the sidewalk. It makes you realize that cars have a disproportionate amount of space.
↑ On the left is the [entrance to the] Islamic Cultural Center. This was taken on a Friday. You will see [the double– and triple–parked cars] here consistently every Friday for about two hours during Friday prayers. When I'm looking at this photograph I'm also looking at the building itself, how it’s different compared to a lot of the rest of the street. It actually has a lot more character, and is maybe one of the oldest buildings on the street and has been designated a landmark. So in terms of building character compared to the rest of the street, this feels like an anomaly for a lot of reasons. Especially when it comes to the Friday prayer, you have these vehicles, you have mostly Muslim immigrant drivers who are coming here, and that's all you see from a distance, all these cars parked illegally. That's what I'm trying to show with this photograph.
↑ The closer you get to the Islamic Cultural Center you realize there's some pedicab drivers there too. And I saw this person in a wheelchair and the woman helping them. Just the sheer amount of ad hoc-ness at that particular hour was causing so much inconvenience. It was a surprise for me that the pedicab drivers are coming all the way from Central Park. The need to pray is bringing so many more users into that space, and it's creating a conflict of needs. And we see these signs for the Henry Hudson Parkway that are intended for motorists that aren't even stopping, they're just driving through this place. That adds another layer to the conflict of needs here and the lack of space for pedestrians.
↑ When you get closer to the Islamic Cultural Center you see a great deal of placemaking happening, unplanned placemaking, which is what I wanted to capture here. There‘s a small setup on the stoop for Friday prayers. They'll put out shoes or food that is attracting many of the pedicab drivers from Central Park and yellow cab drivers. In addition to prayer, Friday is one occasion for them where they get access to affordable food and they can socialize, and it creates a lot of pressure on this particular public space. For someone like me who's Muslim, I'm trying to see how this street could be more livable for everybody. The [non-Muslim] residents, all they see are double-parked cars. But I want them to see the humanness that is happening in this space. What would it look like if the human came before the cars? On a livable street, what would that look like?
↑ This was on my second visit, during the golden hour time. I never realized how beautiful this street is during the golden hour. I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've seen here in New York, just that one-point perspective of the sunset at the end of that corridor. And I wanted to capture it. But here's the tricky thing: I want to get the perfect composition, and I'm trying to cross the street but it's wide, it's like sixty feet. And there are three other photographers in my vicinity who are trying to cross the street at the same time to get a photograph of this. But I can't cross the street quickly enough, the signal is so short that I can’t even linger for three seconds to take a good photograph, so I had to take this photograph really quickly because the signal is telling you [as a pedestrian] to “Keep it moving.” So the blurriness kind of captures that moment for me, and how this might be different in a pedestrian friendly street where I might feel comfortable lingering for even three more seconds to be able to take a nice photograph because I want to capture how beautiful this street is. It's so human, if you see something beautiful, you kind of want to capture it and commemorate it.
↑ This is at Central Park West, during the same golden hour, and there are all these people gathered. You've got pedicab drivers, you've got tourists, you've got photographers who are lingering and taking photographs of the same sunset that I was. Something I really like about this photograph is how people are leaning over this barrier that tells you, “Do not enter” in such negative language. I have a bias against these kinds of hostile barriers. And the fact that the people are lingering, the fact that they're pausing, and the fact that there's no ethnicity or religious motive behind any of this, it's just this humanness, the idea of just wanting to appreciate a beautiful sunset, and nobody's fighting with each other over space. They forget about their conflict completely and are just like, “We all want to enjoy this street.” That's something that, to me, is beautiful. ❖
Ghuncha Shaheed is Pakistani architect, photographer and student in Urban Placemaking at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. She is a member of Open Plans’ 2024 Summer Internship cohort.
