Southern skyline of Tribeca, Tower 1, 2015.

Sometimes, the light is right and the Manhattan grid finds itself aligned with the rays of the sun as they shine down from the sky above on one tower standing alone. This is New York. Record scratch. Say what? It’s uncanny how absence becomes the presence of the erased. Once there was two. Then there was none. Now there’s one. It’s hard to know what to make of it.

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New York is a city that proves the only constant is change, and if you live here long enough, it becomes the height of surreal estate. Take the neighborhood of Tribeca, the triangle below Canal Street. By the mid-nineteenth century, it was a bustling commercial center for industrial business. But the 1960s, most businesses had left, and Tribeca emptied out into a gorgeous ghost town. Attracted to light and space, artists soon found themselves with incredible lofts for living and working. As with the path of gentrification, soon thereafter the wealthy capitalized on the developments made, turning Tribeca into downtown’s most exclusive zip code.

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