The subway ride out to the boardwalk takes between 35-45 minutes, depending. This is when I jot down notes (like this), and think about what I might look for, how I might approach the day differently than the 50 other days I was there. 

From the start, I gave myself just a few rules, but they get pretty restrictive very fast. Don’t shoot anything specifically created to draw attention to itself - by that I mean the rides, the games, the food spots, the signage. There are a thousand people every day covering that stuff; they don’t need me. Second rule: stick to the boardwalk. So, every shot must be taken from the vantage point of the main stretch of the Coney Island boardwalk, roughly a mile long before you start getting into Brighton Beach. So me, standing on the boardwalk, pointing the camera somewhere. My primary focus, at least up to now, has been the old-fashioned benches that line the boardwalk facing the sea, of which there are roughly 120 from one end to the other. A lot of great portraits can present themselves on an 8-foot bench occupied by any number of random strangers, but even so, and even with all those benches, after 50 or so interesting compositions, it does get a little harder to be surprised. So I’m also constantly looking around, for anything that strikes me as interesting. 
I only ventured off the boardwalk and onto the beach once, when it was a shitty mid-week day - cloudy, chilly, few people - and actually, the change of vantage point was a breath of fresh air. While the boardwalk is a very public space, the beach, at least on this day, was a much more private affair.

 

I just wanted to find a funny moment with a dog on a bench. For some stupid reason, I’ve been slightly obsessed with finding that particular shot. When I think to myself, “Hmm, what’s one bench image I don’t have yet?, I think ‘funny shot of dog on a bench.’” And I’ve seen more than a few - dogs on benches, I mean; but not a funny dog on a bench. They’re always kind of boring. There’s never a story behind the shot. Like this one. I want to like it, but it just falls short. I stood in front of these people for a minute or two, pretending to look around at other things, waiting for something magical to happen, but it just never did. And then I started to feel overly intrusive, so I had to move along. The images that always seem to suggest the most interesting stories are the ones I don’t imagine at all, but rather, just stumble upon. I guess there’s a lesson there. But I’m going to keep looking for that dog shot, anyway. Gotta get it out of my system. And a person with a giant stuffed animal prize. That’s another one. Just so obvious, but still…

Early morning on the Coney Island boardwalk, before the crowds, before the tourists and thrill seekers, before the hot dogs and pizza slices, there are the local fitness buffs – the bikers, the joggers, the skaters, the pull-up... pullers?, and the occasional boxing enthusiast, taking advantage of the two-and-a-half-mile stretch of wide open boardwalk, the sea air, and the relative solitude and anonymity. For these early risers, its’s a chance to be alone with their bodies and their thoughts, something that’s hard to find in a city like New York. It’s a nice time to be here. 

This started out as an exercise to see how many interesting and thought-provoking compositions I could capture on the Coney island benches. And that’s still my primary focus. But the more I traipse up and down the boardwalk, the farther afield I’m forced to look. Two people on a bench curiously looking away from each other? Got that. Lovers sprawled one on top of the other? Yup. Overcrowded bench? Solo sun worshiper? Sleeper? Funny outfit? Odd couple? Old couple? Got em all. So at a certain point, you have to start looking for the subtleties. A telling expression. An unusual shape. Something in the background or foreground. A deeper story. On the benches and on the boardwalk, too. Just keep going further and further afield, and things just keep getting more interesting and more surprising. Shooting Coney Island is like digging for treasure when it’s buried everywhere. You just have to look, first where you think it is, then after you’re pretty sure you’ve found it all, look under another rock, go dig somewhere else. There’s always more, if you look hard enough and go past the obvious places. And sometimes you’re looking right at it, if you choose to notice it. That’s my experience, anyway.

On the train out to Coney Island, a young girl was placing little cards on seats next to people. The card read something to the effect of, “I’m trying to raise money for an operation my mom needs, and for food. Can you please help by buying a pack of tissues.” She went through the train car, then came back the other way picking up cards and whatever money people were willing to part with. I gave her $5.00. She took the money and, without saying a word, went on to the next car. An older woman sitting near me, whom I instantly judged as a hard-core New Yorker, with her very practical attire and shopping cart loaded with crap, started in immediately about what a scam the whole thing is, how she’s seen her before, etc. She was telling it all to a young guy two seats down from me, and I couldn’t hear much, as I had noise cancelling headphones on, but I caught a word here and a word there, enough to get the key points, which were: I was a sucker for giving money to this complete stranger, and I just got ripped off. She was probably right, but my POV on panhandlers, generally, is that either way, whether their pitch is honest or bullshit, they’re obviously desperate and need the money more than I do. What’s a few bucks?

Anyway, that was that. The train arrived at Coney Island, and I headed to the boardwalk to see what I could see. About 15 minutes into my look-about, there she was. The same old lady from the train. She had set up one of those caricature-drawing stations smack in the middle of the boardwalk, surrounding herself with easels showing past work and various hand-made signs to draw attention her way. She sat on a small folding chair, sketching the young girl in front of her, a customer. There were a couple dozen young Orthodox Jewish children surrounding her and watching her do her thing. Maybe they all knew the young girl. Not sure. But their simple and humble dress code gave the whole image an old-fashioned monochromatic look, like it could have been a scene from Coney Island, circa 1930. So I took this shot, and converted it to black and white. 
Not sure if there’s a moral to the story, but in the end, the old lady who criticized me for giving money to a stranger whose motives were suspect, ended up providing me with a nice photograph, which I’ll use for god-knows-what.