In 1976, the US observed the country’s Bicentennial–our 200th birthday. The July 4th celebrations included a parade of Tall Ships in New York Harbor, visiting us from around the world. 

I watched the ships from the balcony of my Grandmother’s 22nd floor apartment in Brooklyn Heights. I was 12 years old, and impressed by the historical significance of the date. Would there be another date like this in my life? I thought ahead to the year 2000. The turn of the century! I would be 36 years old. I wondered what my life would be like. My parents were 36 that year. That was as old as I could imagine ever getting.

That failure of imagination continues, even as I turned 60 this past year. It never once occurred to me to consider what it would feel like to be inside a 60-year-old body.

When I look at my close friends, I try to read their age, but I don’t know what to look for. I'm fascinated by the mix of things I see on their faces–the complexity of their life experience overlaid on the essential youthful core.

In this portrait series, I’m interested in what this age looks like, what it feels like, and more generally, what we think of when we consider how old we are. Right now, in this moment, do you feel old or young? And what will we think of these pictures when we see them in 10 years, or in 20, if we live that long. I want to be there when my sitters say, “My god. I was so young then.