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		<title>Xavier Nuez</title>
		<description></description>
		<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com]]></link>
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			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 90, Window  (2006, Chicago, IL, 10:45pm)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[It’s a warm summer night in Chicago where I’ve framed Window, and released the shutter. My friend Phil and I are waiting for the 30-minute exposure to complete itself, when we’re approached by Horace, an odd looking fellow. He’s wearing a suit jacket with the sleeves torn off and has no shirt underneath. His face, chest and neck are scarred with dozens of tiny lines from many small cuts, apparently inflicted years ago. He tells us he’s just gotten out of prison where he met a superhuman being who taught him to connect with his mind and with his own super-powers. Horace then tells us he has himself achieved superhuman abilities. He attempts to describe an unnatural back flip he did recently, 20 ft in the air, landing on a rooftop, while escaping a band of pursuers. “I can’t demonstrate to you my powers - they only work when I’m in danger or when they are truly necessary”]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-90.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-90.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 90, Window  (2006, Chicago, IL, 10:45pm)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[It’s a warm summer night in Chicago where I’ve framed Window, and released the shutter. My friend Phil and I are waiting for the 30-minute exposure to complete itself, when we’re approached by Horace, an odd looking fellow. He’s wearing a suit jacket with the sleeves torn off and has no shirt underneath. His face, chest and neck are scarred with dozens of tiny lines from many small cuts, apparently inflicted years ago. He tells us he’s just gotten out of prison where he met a superhuman being who taught him to connect with his mind and with his own super-powers. Horace then tells us he has himself achieved superhuman abilities. He attempts to describe an unnatural back flip he did recently, 20 ft in the air, landing on a rooftop, while escaping a band of pursuers. “I can’t demonstrate to you my powers - they only work when I’m in danger or when they are truly necessary”]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-90.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 87, Play  (2006, Chicago, IL, 12am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-87.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-87.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 87, Play  (2006, Chicago, IL, 12am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-87.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 86, Crossroads  (2006, Boston, MA, 10:30pm)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA["Clinton walks up to me, asking for a cigarette. “I don’t smoke,” I say to him, but he wants to tell me something. 

“Do you know the secret to life? The secret to life is balance… if you got no balance, you can’t do nothin. Let me show you somethin.”  

I’m fascinated – this man is preaching some truth. He then proceeds to toss a 2-foot long stick in the air and tries to catch it by chopping away at the air in fast Bruce Lee-like motions. The stick bounces off his arm and falls to the ground.  

“Balance is the key, watch this,” he says earnestly, apparently unaware of his first missed attempt. He quickly picks up the stick and once again flicks it high up in the air and chops away at the warm humid night, the stick bouncing off his rapidly moving arms, and again falling to the ground. Believing he’s done something right, he looks at me, his eyes narrow. “See what I’m saying?” He throws the stick up several more times, always ignoring his failed attempts, and even giving me pointers. “Notice how quickly my hands move – you have to feel the stick in the air – you can’t just catch it if you don’t feel it. Watch closely.” He throws the stick up again and finally catches it, displaying the clenched stick with great seriousness and severity. He then decides to toss the stick onto a row of chained dumpsters next to him, but he hits the side and it falls to the ground. He repeats this again, with the same results, until he decides to place the stick on one of the dumpsters, but it falls behind where he cannot retrieve it."]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-86.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-86.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 86, Crossroads  (2006, Boston, MA, 10:30pm)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA["Clinton walks up to me, asking for a cigarette. “I don’t smoke,” I say to him, but he wants to tell me something. 

“Do you know the secret to life? The secret to life is balance… if you got no balance, you can’t do nothin. Let me show you somethin.”  

I’m fascinated – this man is preaching some truth. He then proceeds to toss a 2-foot long stick in the air and tries to catch it by chopping away at the air in fast Bruce Lee-like motions. The stick bounces off his arm and falls to the ground.  

“Balance is the key, watch this,” he says earnestly, apparently unaware of his first missed attempt. He quickly picks up the stick and once again flicks it high up in the air and chops away at the warm humid night, the stick bouncing off his rapidly moving arms, and again falling to the ground. Believing he’s done something right, he looks at me, his eyes narrow. “See what I’m saying?” He throws the stick up several more times, always ignoring his failed attempts, and even giving me pointers. “Notice how quickly my hands move – you have to feel the stick in the air – you can’t just catch it if you don’t feel it. Watch closely.” He throws the stick up again and finally catches it, displaying the clenched stick with great seriousness and severity. He then decides to toss the stick onto a row of chained dumpsters next to him, but he hits the side and it falls to the ground. He repeats this again, with the same results, until he decides to place the stick on one of the dumpsters, but it falls behind where he cannot retrieve it."]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-86.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 85, Bridge  (2006, St Louis, MO, 1:15am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-85.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-85.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 85, Bridge  (2006, St Louis, MO, 1:15am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-85.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 84, Wall  (2006, Chattanooga, TN, 10:45pm)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-84.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-84.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 84, Wall  (2006, Chattanooga, TN, 10:45pm)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-84.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 83, Stadium  (2006, Miami, FL, 3:30am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA["I’m in Miami where I meet Emmett, a young graffiti artist. He sees my work and tells me he has a place I have to see. That night he takes me to the remnants of Miami’s Marine Stadium.

We have to sneak in by the side, through a break in the fence. It’s extremely dark, so I pull out my flashlight. I shine it on the walls outside as we’re entering the stadium and I see graffiti covering every square inch. We enter, and I’m starting to be blown away. The building is familiar. Like most modern stadiums, it is made of cement. The pillars and walkways and ramps… it is made to last, to withstand the pounding of hundreds of thousands of people over decades. It’s a solid, modern-looking structure. But there is a big difference here. This enormous stadium has been abandoned for 14 years, after being damaged by Hurricane Andrew. It has been left to rot. And though there was an attempt to barricade it, it’s clear from seeing the inside that this feeble attempt was futile. Graffiti artists and countless others have run amuck.

We walk up a long ramp leading to the 2nd floor food vendors, bathrooms and offices of this once bustling place (the ramp continues on to the many more floors above us). It is really breathtaking and utterly surreal. I truly feel I’ve glimpsed the apocalypse. From the 2nd floor walkway, you can see high above and down the length of the corridor – this modern wreck of a place is enormous.

I walk into a kitchen area where steel cabinets are dangling off the walls - walls that have been smashed through.  I keep moving deeper into the labyrinth, through graffiti coated locker rooms and offices. I’m surrounded by pitch-blackness, but my flashlight’s spot is guiding the way. As I move from room to room, more graffiti and unknown grimy streaks cover the walls, while the floor is caked with garbage and with the stench of urine and mold and decay. I walk from one destroyed room to another, including a bloodcurdling bathroom that is a sheer horror. People have gone berserk here. I look around and realize I’ve lost Emmett. I quickly exit the bathroom and feel chills and excitement. This is a creepy yet utterly fascinating place. I move out to the main landing again and feel the fresh air. From this second floor perch you can see the palm trees outside and you can feel the warm night breeze. I feel a little refreshed... Now its time to see the main attraction: the stadium seating. I turn around and choke - four young guys are walking toward me. “What are you doin here?” one asks suspiciously. I’m thinking I’m trapped, but I’m friggin grateful that I had earlier stashed my camera bag and tripod. And where the hell is Emmett! I know I'd better be as cool as possible – there’s no way they can know I’m afraid and vulnerable.

“I’m checking this place out with my friends,” I say casually.

“We ain’t seen anyone else. Who you with?”

“I’m with my friends – they’re walkin around. This place is fuckin awesome.”

“Yea,” the guy mutters, and they turn and move on down the hall.

I breathe a sigh and head for the seating. I enter and finally get to look around at what has happened to this stadium. My jaw drops.  I think to myself: “This is epic. This is the roman coliseum; this is a modern American ruin.”

The place is enormous, and the graffiti continues to be everywhere. It is breathtaking and sad. It is such a waste. At least the Romans used their coliseum for almost 500 years. This is the age of disposable products taken to absurd lengths. I see Emmett sitting way down near the water. I go down and tell him about the four guys, then thank him for taking me to this incredible place.

He’s concerned about the guys, but tells me as far as he knows, gangs don’t hang out in here. He recommends I do the shot. So I head off and find my gear. The dudes are nowhere in sight. I set up the camera but the light is far too dim to get a reading on my light meter. This always happens in very low light situations. Normally I’d walk toward the light source, which might be a block away, until sufficient light would give me a reading. Here however, this is an impossibility. The only light hitting the stadium are the downtown Miami condos and office towers two miles away, across Biscayne Bay. I have to guess, and it is somewhat of a wild guess. I decide on 90-minutes at f/5.6. I release the shutter and take a seat, keeping a vigilant eye out. 30-minutes later, flashlights appear. It’s the four dudes, carrying flashlights as they walk. They’ve ruined my shot! And I still don’t know who the hell they are. Emmett appears behind me, and he calls out “Hey Joey! It’s Emmett. Whatup bro!”

The friends meet and shake hands. He’s one of his tagging partners. They’ve spent many hours together contributing to the layers of paint in the stadium. Joey looks at me and says, “man, you with Emmett?? Shit, we thought maybe you was crazy walkin round here alone.” This is a happy ending to one story, but my shot is still ruined. I explain to Emmett that I have to redo the shot. He can’t stick around another hour, plus it turns out its gotten very late. I likely don’t have an hour of night left before dawn.

This is a heartbreak. I may never get another chance here. We leave, but I’ve decided to return tomorrow.

The next day Emmett isn’t available, but he’ll try to find someone. In the evening, it’s clear I’ll be going alone – a thought I don’t relish. Once again I’m faced with a shot that’s too amazing to pass up, never mind the danger.

I decide to go very late when I think it might be safer. At 3am I’m sneaking back in through the cut fence. I take slow steps, listening very, very carefully. I climb to the second floor, quiet as a mouse. I hear odd noises and my heart races. I crouch, then freeze and wait. The noises start up again. I listen carefully then realize small animals are scurrying around. I continue on through the opening to the stadium seats. I still can’t believe it. “Epic” comes to mind again. I set up at the same spot. It’s not easy to frame the picture because it’s just so damn dark. In fact, it’s too dark to make out colors, only forms. I finally clamp down the tripod and release the shutter. The next 90 minutes is spent listening, and watching. It is uneventful, but every 2 minutes I look at my watch, thinking and hoping that 15 minutes have passed by. Through the stress, I keep thinking how great it is that I came back. The exposure is finally completed and I head off, a little quicker this time, giving the halls of this once great stadium a final look, and a farewell.]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-83.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-83.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 83, Stadium  (2006, Miami, FL, 3:30am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA["I’m in Miami where I meet Emmett, a young graffiti artist. He sees my work and tells me he has a place I have to see. That night he takes me to the remnants of Miami’s Marine Stadium.

We have to sneak in by the side, through a break in the fence. It’s extremely dark, so I pull out my flashlight. I shine it on the walls outside as we’re entering the stadium and I see graffiti covering every square inch. We enter, and I’m starting to be blown away. The building is familiar. Like most modern stadiums, it is made of cement. The pillars and walkways and ramps… it is made to last, to withstand the pounding of hundreds of thousands of people over decades. It’s a solid, modern-looking structure. But there is a big difference here. This enormous stadium has been abandoned for 14 years, after being damaged by Hurricane Andrew. It has been left to rot. And though there was an attempt to barricade it, it’s clear from seeing the inside that this feeble attempt was futile. Graffiti artists and countless others have run amuck.

We walk up a long ramp leading to the 2nd floor food vendors, bathrooms and offices of this once bustling place (the ramp continues on to the many more floors above us). It is really breathtaking and utterly surreal. I truly feel I’ve glimpsed the apocalypse. From the 2nd floor walkway, you can see high above and down the length of the corridor – this modern wreck of a place is enormous.

I walk into a kitchen area where steel cabinets are dangling off the walls - walls that have been smashed through.  I keep moving deeper into the labyrinth, through graffiti coated locker rooms and offices. I’m surrounded by pitch-blackness, but my flashlight’s spot is guiding the way. As I move from room to room, more graffiti and unknown grimy streaks cover the walls, while the floor is caked with garbage and with the stench of urine and mold and decay. I walk from one destroyed room to another, including a bloodcurdling bathroom that is a sheer horror. People have gone berserk here. I look around and realize I’ve lost Emmett. I quickly exit the bathroom and feel chills and excitement. This is a creepy yet utterly fascinating place. I move out to the main landing again and feel the fresh air. From this second floor perch you can see the palm trees outside and you can feel the warm night breeze. I feel a little refreshed... Now its time to see the main attraction: the stadium seating. I turn around and choke - four young guys are walking toward me. “What are you doin here?” one asks suspiciously. I’m thinking I’m trapped, but I’m friggin grateful that I had earlier stashed my camera bag and tripod. And where the hell is Emmett! I know I'd better be as cool as possible – there’s no way they can know I’m afraid and vulnerable.

“I’m checking this place out with my friends,” I say casually.

“We ain’t seen anyone else. Who you with?”

“I’m with my friends – they’re walkin around. This place is fuckin awesome.”

“Yea,” the guy mutters, and they turn and move on down the hall.

I breathe a sigh and head for the seating. I enter and finally get to look around at what has happened to this stadium. My jaw drops.  I think to myself: “This is epic. This is the roman coliseum; this is a modern American ruin.”

The place is enormous, and the graffiti continues to be everywhere. It is breathtaking and sad. It is such a waste. At least the Romans used their coliseum for almost 500 years. This is the age of disposable products taken to absurd lengths. I see Emmett sitting way down near the water. I go down and tell him about the four guys, then thank him for taking me to this incredible place.

He’s concerned about the guys, but tells me as far as he knows, gangs don’t hang out in here. He recommends I do the shot. So I head off and find my gear. The dudes are nowhere in sight. I set up the camera but the light is far too dim to get a reading on my light meter. This always happens in very low light situations. Normally I’d walk toward the light source, which might be a block away, until sufficient light would give me a reading. Here however, this is an impossibility. The only light hitting the stadium are the downtown Miami condos and office towers two miles away, across Biscayne Bay. I have to guess, and it is somewhat of a wild guess. I decide on 90-minutes at f/5.6. I release the shutter and take a seat, keeping a vigilant eye out. 30-minutes later, flashlights appear. It’s the four dudes, carrying flashlights as they walk. They’ve ruined my shot! And I still don’t know who the hell they are. Emmett appears behind me, and he calls out “Hey Joey! It’s Emmett. Whatup bro!”

The friends meet and shake hands. He’s one of his tagging partners. They’ve spent many hours together contributing to the layers of paint in the stadium. Joey looks at me and says, “man, you with Emmett?? Shit, we thought maybe you was crazy walkin round here alone.” This is a happy ending to one story, but my shot is still ruined. I explain to Emmett that I have to redo the shot. He can’t stick around another hour, plus it turns out its gotten very late. I likely don’t have an hour of night left before dawn.

This is a heartbreak. I may never get another chance here. We leave, but I’ve decided to return tomorrow.

The next day Emmett isn’t available, but he’ll try to find someone. In the evening, it’s clear I’ll be going alone – a thought I don’t relish. Once again I’m faced with a shot that’s too amazing to pass up, never mind the danger.

I decide to go very late when I think it might be safer. At 3am I’m sneaking back in through the cut fence. I take slow steps, listening very, very carefully. I climb to the second floor, quiet as a mouse. I hear odd noises and my heart races. I crouch, then freeze and wait. The noises start up again. I listen carefully then realize small animals are scurrying around. I continue on through the opening to the stadium seats. I still can’t believe it. “Epic” comes to mind again. I set up at the same spot. It’s not easy to frame the picture because it’s just so damn dark. In fact, it’s too dark to make out colors, only forms. I finally clamp down the tripod and release the shutter. The next 90 minutes is spent listening, and watching. It is uneventful, but every 2 minutes I look at my watch, thinking and hoping that 15 minutes have passed by. Through the stress, I keep thinking how great it is that I came back. The exposure is finally completed and I head off, a little quicker this time, giving the halls of this once great stadium a final look, and a farewell.]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-83.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 82, Ivy  (2005, Detroit, MI, 3am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[I love the mystery of an old dark alley. You know there are stories there, but there’s no one to ask. So all you can do is imagine…]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-82.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-82.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 82, Ivy  (2005, Detroit, MI, 3am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[I love the mystery of an old dark alley. You know there are stories there, but there’s no one to ask. So all you can do is imagine…]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-82.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 81, "Heidelberg Project"  (Detroit, MI - 2005, 2am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA["I had heard about a surreal art project in the heart of Detroit’s devastated east side - another neighborhood in ruins, where abandoned or burned out homes outnumber those that are lived in. One of its residents, Tyree Guyton, decided years ago to give life to this area in the form of the dadaesque Heidelberg Project. He would reclaim empty homes, the street, trees, empty lots - it would all get a major makeover. My friend Eric and I decide to drop by, at 2am.

Wandering through, one lot is more bizarre than the other. Massive black tubing engulfs one house, the tubes entering it in numerous places. Elsewhere, a front yard has perhaps fifty vacuum cleaners lined up in rows; a jumble of old boats, nailed together, form a 20-foot high sculpture, and everything is painted, much of it in red. The heavy brush strokes have left streaks from the dripping paint.

The project as a piece of art is brilliant, if not oppressive and angry. However, some years ago, in an apparently shortsighted fit, the city attacked the project, bulldozing most of it. Plenty remains however, and Mr. Guyton keeps on adding.

I’m looking at oil drums painted over with the word GOD when I notice that the same car has driven by several times, and it’s not a cop. I’m feeling nervous – at night, this truly is a dangerous place and maybe its time to go. Eric wants me to take my camera out and take pictures, but I’m saying that’s a bad idea – I’ve survived 15 years of shooting alleys at night because I can draw the line somewhere.

Then I see the dollhouse… It’s just too much to believe, and the lighting is perfect. And I think “Oh no. Now I have to take my camera out.”

I quickly set up. It’s a 25-minute exposure, and I can’t waste time. Somewhere in the middle of the exposure, gunfire erupts. Eric and I look at each other and grimace. What we are doing here is nuts, but I have to finish the exposure.

The same car drives around for a fourth time, the driver studying us and the equipment. And in the distance, bullets are still being fired.

I look at my watch: 23 minutes. Good enough, I tell Eric. We jump in the van and take off.]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-81.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-81.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 81, "Heidelberg Project"  (Detroit, MI - 2005, 2am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA["I had heard about a surreal art project in the heart of Detroit’s devastated east side - another neighborhood in ruins, where abandoned or burned out homes outnumber those that are lived in. One of its residents, Tyree Guyton, decided years ago to give life to this area in the form of the dadaesque Heidelberg Project. He would reclaim empty homes, the street, trees, empty lots - it would all get a major makeover. My friend Eric and I decide to drop by, at 2am.

Wandering through, one lot is more bizarre than the other. Massive black tubing engulfs one house, the tubes entering it in numerous places. Elsewhere, a front yard has perhaps fifty vacuum cleaners lined up in rows; a jumble of old boats, nailed together, form a 20-foot high sculpture, and everything is painted, much of it in red. The heavy brush strokes have left streaks from the dripping paint.

The project as a piece of art is brilliant, if not oppressive and angry. However, some years ago, in an apparently shortsighted fit, the city attacked the project, bulldozing most of it. Plenty remains however, and Mr. Guyton keeps on adding.

I’m looking at oil drums painted over with the word GOD when I notice that the same car has driven by several times, and it’s not a cop. I’m feeling nervous – at night, this truly is a dangerous place and maybe its time to go. Eric wants me to take my camera out and take pictures, but I’m saying that’s a bad idea – I’ve survived 15 years of shooting alleys at night because I can draw the line somewhere.

Then I see the dollhouse… It’s just too much to believe, and the lighting is perfect. And I think “Oh no. Now I have to take my camera out.”

I quickly set up. It’s a 25-minute exposure, and I can’t waste time. Somewhere in the middle of the exposure, gunfire erupts. Eric and I look at each other and grimace. What we are doing here is nuts, but I have to finish the exposure.

The same car drives around for a fourth time, the driver studying us and the equipment. And in the distance, bullets are still being fired.

I look at my watch: 23 minutes. Good enough, I tell Eric. We jump in the van and take off.]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-81.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
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			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 79, Tunnel  (2005, Detroit, MI, 2:15am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA["Phil and I have been exploring some of Detroit’s ruins.  We find a tunnel where years of unchecked grime has settled into a thick cake on all the steel beams; where garbage runs the length of the tunnel floor; and where an ethereal light is beckoning me. We’ve been exploring in and around the tunnel for an hour and no car has come by, so I decide to set up my tripod in the middle of the street, where the light is best, and I start the 20 minute timer. I also decide to add some blue light with my flash, walking the tunnel’s length and firing my flash almost 20 times. I return to the camera and wait out the few remaining minutes . Suddenly a car’s headlights appear at the opposite end of the tunznel (visible in the photograph). I quickly close the camera’s shutter, pick up the tripod and run to the side of the tunnel to protect the equipment. I hear the car’s engine roar as the driver floors it, followed by blue and red flashing lights. It’s a cop. The car comes to a skidding halt and the two doors swing open. Two flashlights are now on us.

“DON’T MOVE!” We freeze. “What are you two doing in here?” 

“I’m an artist,” I say. “I’m taking a picture.” 

“A PICTURE!!” one of the cops growls, not believing me. “OF WHAT??” 

“I take pictures at night. I know it sounds strange, but this is what I do.” 

“You stay right there!,” he says. 

Nervously, he steps away from the safety of his car door and approaches. The other cop is glaring at us. 

“Whado we have here?” he says flipping open my camera bag with his heavy maglite. He looks through my equipment and sees I’m telling the truth. Both cops start to relax. “Hey I love art,” he says. “Just be careful out here. It ain’t safe.” They give us a long look, and leave. I set up the tripod again. I’m not sure I got the shot,and I don’t want to miss this one. Ten minutes later another car appears and I have to race my camera to safety, ruining the shot. It’s a cop again. The car drives by, with the two officers staring at us. I try again, putting the tripod on the same mark, reframing and releasing the shutter. Again, minutes later another cop car, two different officers drive by. I set up again, and one more time, two different cops. Apparently word has gotten out that two lunatics are taking pictures in a dark and dirty tunnel. I decide to have faith in my first exposure, and Phil and I leave.]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-79.jpg]]></link>
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			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 79, Tunnel  (2005, Detroit, MI, 2:15am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA["Phil and I have been exploring some of Detroit’s ruins.  We find a tunnel where years of unchecked grime has settled into a thick cake on all the steel beams; where garbage runs the length of the tunnel floor; and where an ethereal light is beckoning me. We’ve been exploring in and around the tunnel for an hour and no car has come by, so I decide to set up my tripod in the middle of the street, where the light is best, and I start the 20 minute timer. I also decide to add some blue light with my flash, walking the tunnel’s length and firing my flash almost 20 times. I return to the camera and wait out the few remaining minutes . Suddenly a car’s headlights appear at the opposite end of the tunznel (visible in the photograph). I quickly close the camera’s shutter, pick up the tripod and run to the side of the tunnel to protect the equipment. I hear the car’s engine roar as the driver floors it, followed by blue and red flashing lights. It’s a cop. The car comes to a skidding halt and the two doors swing open. Two flashlights are now on us.

“DON’T MOVE!” We freeze. “What are you two doing in here?” 

“I’m an artist,” I say. “I’m taking a picture.” 

“A PICTURE!!” one of the cops growls, not believing me. “OF WHAT??” 

“I take pictures at night. I know it sounds strange, but this is what I do.” 

“You stay right there!,” he says. 

Nervously, he steps away from the safety of his car door and approaches. The other cop is glaring at us. 

“Whado we have here?” he says flipping open my camera bag with his heavy maglite. He looks through my equipment and sees I’m telling the truth. Both cops start to relax. “Hey I love art,” he says. “Just be careful out here. It ain’t safe.” They give us a long look, and leave. I set up the tripod again. I’m not sure I got the shot,and I don’t want to miss this one. Ten minutes later another car appears and I have to race my camera to safety, ruining the shot. It’s a cop again. The car drives by, with the two officers staring at us. I try again, putting the tripod on the same mark, reframing and releasing the shutter. Again, minutes later another cop car, two different officers drive by. I set up again, and one more time, two different cops. Apparently word has gotten out that two lunatics are taking pictures in a dark and dirty tunnel. I decide to have faith in my first exposure, and Phil and I leave.]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-79.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
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			<title><![CDATA[Alley no. 78, Steel Drums  (2005, Detroit, MI, 2:15am)]]></title>
			<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
			<link><![CDATA[http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-78.jpg]]></link>
			<media:content url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/alley-78.jpg' medium='image' />
			<media:title><![CDATA[Alley no. 78, Steel Drums  (2005, Detroit, MI, 2:15am)]]></media:title>
			<media:description><![CDATA[]]></media:description>
			<media:thumbnail url='http://www.nuez.com/wp-content/gallery/alley-text/thumbs/thumbs_alley-78.jpg' width='170' height='170' />
			<media:keywords><![CDATA[]]></media:keywords>
			<media:copyright><![CDATA[Copyright (c) Xavier Nuez (http://www.nuez.com)]]></media:copyright>
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