Calling All Angles.
New York City. 1990 to 2020.

I’m not from New York. I grew up in Pennsylvania coal country, coming of age in the 1980s. By then, the mines—and nearly everything else in town—had gone bust. So, in many ways, I grew up in the middle of nowhere: a blank canvas where I could dream and wonder. From a very young age, while lying in bed each night, I would stare out my window at the flashing safety light atop a distant radio tower, imagining my escape to far-off places and all the amazing things I would do once I reached those places.

By 15, I was in my first working band. Music became my ticket out of town and off to college, with old suitcases filled with dreams of performing professionally every night as a working musician in New York City. In 1988, two days after finishing undergraduate school, I moved to New York with my drum kit and a camera. (Truly, not much else.) I was 22. After paying my first month’s rent, I had $37 left and no job. I called home for money from a pay phone in Port Authority—and was sternly refused. I did, eventually, achieve that dream. Subsequent dreams (why have just one?) were serendipitous, and more rewarding still. All of these years later, I’m grateful for that crushing Port Authority phone call.

I have a credo — that there are only two important days on the calendar: today and tomorrow.making this part of the site difficult to put together. As happens to anyone looking through old photographs, some of these images stirred emotions across the spectrum—from outright hilarity to moments when my eyes gave way. As a photographer, sometimes you can still smell the place, feel the time of day, and hear the sounds and voices of a photo you took many years on. In some cases have not seen these images in over twenty years.

The following photographs are selects from three decades of my journey through two incredibly rewarding careers in New York City from 1990 to 2020. The majority are from 1990 - 2000, what I describe as New York’s incandescent decade, the years between the catastrophic AIDS crisis and the violent darkness of 9/11. I knew casualties of both.

Everyone in this gallery was a friend at the time the photograph was taken. Some still are. Some lost to time, whereabouts unknown. A few gained fame, only to discover it has no value. Most went on to achieve a dream or two and find moments of joy among life’s chaos and darkness. A few succumbed to the latter. They were very special to me. Most were artists and writers working in various mediums. Some were work-a-day-folks. Most, experts in resiliency. Nearly all were so young—so hungry to live, to love, and to succeed.

As is my nature, I cherished them all in varying ways and temperatures. But while taking this journey, I discovered something unexpected: I have no photographs of many of the people I loved most deeply during those years —the ones who burrowed into my heart, to its very foundation.

None.

Why?

Welcome to thirty years of passion, madness and felicity.

—Ted Green

The photos are (loosely) in chronological order. None of these photos are for sale. Photos that were so badly damaged and restored with some AI tools are noted. All photos are real.