La sección de obituarios de mi revista preferida siempre rescata figuras heroícas, muchas veces casi desconocidas, que probablemente le huyeran en vida a cualquier exposición mediática. Seguramente muchos conozcan el trabajo de la fotógrafa norteamericana Helen Levitt pero para mi era completamente desconocida:
The grittier parts were her particular joy. Her world was run-down streets, rubble-filled building sites, warehouses and litter-strewn front steps. This was urban photography with a vengeance: small scraps of sky, no trees. When she was going with Walker Evans in 1938, borrowing his camera as well (“of course”) as sleeping with him, he used to be afraid of going as far uptown as she did. Some of her young male subjects, lounging around in their zoot suits and fedoras, had an unmistakable air of menace. But mostly she brought back images of gossiping women and her favourite, scrambling children. A right-angle viewfinder allowed her to take the picture without them knowing, even, as Evans showed her, when riding right beside them in the subway.
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