
This is the love child of marshall mcdonald. I are a photographer. Let me take your picture. // marshallmcdonaldphoto.com // twitter!!! // facebook

Father and two sons in their home. Renovation: Marseille, France.
Shot on Kodak E100G Transparency film. August, 2010.

Hog, Chinatown.

Lara Boustier, Warehouse hallway.
It was Kim and Lucie’s last night in Brooklyn. Tomorrow they were to return to Paris. I wanted a photoshoot before they left. Something very formal. So I sat them down in their S. 4th abode. When I showed up they were doing final touch ups on the apartment before moving out: mopping, wiping the stove down, packing their suitcases, returning the plastic jesus statue lamp to its original spot in the living room; the place came pre-furnished.
It was tuesday evening. I headed over straight from work with little time to plan. They were looking great as they tend to do, but something was missing.
The mirror was in place. I liked that placement, but early on I shot to avoid my reflection. As we went, something wasn’t clicking. By the time we got to what you see here, things picked up.
It’s a reflection of Kim’s personality. Those who know Kim know someone’s clothes always come off around him. The shots only got worse.
This here taken early in the night; PG13. R Negatives to come.
Test shot. Fuji FP100C, shitty Polaroid scan. Mamiya RZ67.
We didn’t have our picnic because of the rain. So we brought the food to Kims as Kim sat and did what Kim does.
It’s a rough scan…
Mamiya RZ67, Kodak Plus-x
Spent last weekend in jail, downtown Brooklyn.
Photographing abandoned spaces can be dangerous business. You run into the wrong security guard and you find yourself facing felony assault with bite marks on your leg. I guess that’s all I can say until September. Woop. I got good friends.
Marshall what an ending! I didnt expect less from u. Haha u rule it ! Dumbest thing on earth… I hope it wasn’t that terrible and that they treated u well. We love u so fucking much! Listen to your fucking french mom from now!!! We are on the plane and wanna tell you one more time what a fucking dumbass you are and a fucking incredible friend!
-Alice, Friend
I didn’t get to say goodbye to her and Xavier; my lovely roommates who made this Summer so enjoyable. Sorry I missed you. The man is keeping me down.
Hey man, my mom said she talked to your mom a couple of days ago and she asked if I was still in NY cuz you really needed my help? I’m not sure what she’s talking about, but let me know.
-Ronnie, Cousin
Bro. Are you in Jail?
- Jae, Friend
Oh Boy. So yr in jail. Ok. If you want me to come home tonight just fuckin say when kid. On my way back to bk. I sure hope you ain’t still in lockup.
- Lara, Complicated friend
And this. So sweet.
me and jae been on the hunt for you. pleeease let us know when you can that yr in 1 fucking piece and not in too much trouble!!!
-Lara, again.
You’re beautiful.
Realized it this weekend; I want to start shooting color film. I’ve had an exclusive run with Plus-x, Tri-x, and Ilford 3200 for the last 8 months… polaroids don’t count.
This season is too fucking saturated to pick up on monochrome. The earths tilt is toward the sun, it’s in our favor, and all sorts of colorful wardrobe decisions are being made. And in a place like New York you’ll notice the clothing come out before the flowers do.
I saw a skirt fly up in the rain yesterday. Under it was a pair of lavender panties; color in the most unexpected places.
Mamiya RZ67. Kodak 100NC.
You are on the road right now, my friend. Route 66 takes you to fruitful California where you’ll trade your cargo-pants for car insurance and that beautiful beard for a masters in film… AFI. Greatness. Like ol’ Tom Joad, almost fresh out of jail.
We had an argument on Friday, something I guess I do when I know I’m about to lose somebody as important as you. Over the weekend I thought that was it. I was stumped at the thought of those being the parting words. What were they anyway? What a stupid fucking argument.
But you took one more voyage through the hot concrete. Brooklyn! And that argument we once had made last nights goodbye sweet harmony. I was late for work this morning. UNION POOL PBR VEGAN DINNER DUCK DUCK WHISKEY SPECIAL L TRAIN ACTUALLY RUNNING ON THE WAY HOME. THANK GOD.
We met 4+ years ago. Knowing you has changed my definition on the lifespan and quality of a friendship in this goddamn city.
Drive safe out there.
Love, Marshall
Mamiya 6x7, Kodak 100NC.
We swept it; we covered 16 stories of abandonment.
Michigan Central Station was designed by Warren and Wetmore in 1913, the same architects behind New York’s Grand Central. Both monstrous stations went up the same year, so you can’t help but think W&W stretched themselves pretty thin. I guess it’s apparent where the focus was: 42nd and Park…shouldn’t it be? Detroit was doomed from the start. The station’s placement alone is baffling.
The concourse at ground level was big, and maze-like. It took about 30 minutes to find a means for getting elevated, but we knew the roof was accessible. Deathtraps disguised themselves as functional stairwells. Offices looked like pillbox bunkers. Elevator shafts were uncomfortably black…elevators weren’t doing shit for you. It was a funhouse. Once walls, now sweeping vistas. Once hallways, now catwalks. Once ceilings, now floors… etc… everything misplaced.
We got to the top - took us about 3 hours - and we sat; we fucking enjoyed it. So you have this picture. The air was cleaner up there. We took breath. We smoked. Click.
Curiosity wears you out in a place like this. Going up floor by floor, scouring each for a revelation, refusing to believe no two layouts are the same (even though most were). But the top was the exception. Floor boards were planked and the widest in the building. Walls didn’t exist inside the perimeter. It was so open. Brick mountains were scattered about. Brick. Piping and wiring hung down and stuck up. Large windows and peak elevation brought on sun damage; all of the above contorted.
See it before it goes.
The overbearing clouds gave no hope to the sun. The separation was cold, bereft of contrast. On the bright side, for a shoot in July, the tar roof was once comfortable on her bare feet.