Cranberry and Henry, Brooklyn Heights

A shadow play unfolding on a dim stage across 10th Street, faraway skyscrapers pointing upwards like spaceships being launched. A diner enshrining a fading lifestyle in a long box of stainless steel, Naugahyde and Formica. A maintenance worker perched on a water tower for a last check before the timid snow gets wilder. The effervescence of famished night owls around a sidewalk food cart, huddling in the scent of shish kebabs. For years and years I have prowled cities for moments such as these. First with pencil and pen and watercolor; for the past few years with just the glowing iPhone screen I finger paint on. And, yet, most of these images -- like those in the book New York: Finger Paintings by Jorge Colombo -- jumped at me almost by accident: the right interplay of proportions, the correct light and palette, the proper mix of familiar and generic, the New York-ness we all want to distill and keep forever.